The New Riders: A Legacy Continued
by Yaela Svit-kona
Summary: This is a continuation of Inheritance about the young new Riders and their lives at the Hall of the Riders. Somewhat soap-opera-like, definitely not boring! I assure you, the chapters get progressively better - I wrote the first when I was fourteen. Please read, I would love your opinions. :)
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey, guys! This is my first Inheritance fanfic and the second one I've ever written. The first sucked, I scrapped it. :P**

**So, this is just like a prologue. I'd love reviews, and I hope you like this story!**

Kira bounced up and down on the end of her fathers' bed. 'Hurry _up_, Dad!'

Bergan emerged from the library, holding a thick scroll in hand. "Calm down, calm down, its right here!' the head of the Arcaena laughed.

Kira snatched it from him so fast her hand was a blur. She was about to rush to her room when her father stopped her.

'Kira.' His deep voice was serious. 'Be careful with it; it's a very rare and valuable copy, over a thousand years old. It contains extracts from the Shadeslayers' and Arya Dröttningus' diaries. People would kill for it. I'm trusting you, the council had no idea I'm letting you read it. Understand?'

Kira paused, her spirits momentarily dampened by her fathers' words and a tinge of awe. She ducked her head. 'I promise I'll take care of it, Dad.'

Her father smiled, allowing her to bound up to her room. She jumped onto her bed so hard she actually bounced back up into the air. She eagerly unrolled the scroll.

'**The defeat of the Black King and the life of Eragon Shadeslayer.' **

The words marched across the top of the scroll in elegant, bold letters. Kira gently let her fingers trail over the words. She'd read the shorter version of this, the childrens' version; now _finally _she was going to be allowed to read the adult version.

She ran a finger down the scroll, muttering, 'Hatching, boring, training, boring, the Varden, violent, Durza, yeah, yeah, the seige, boring, defeat, heard of it, blah blah blah; yes! The New Riders!'

She settled down to read. She knew it wouldn't be a dry and tasteless account of events. It would be alive and warm and real, full of emotions and humor and relationships. That was why she was so excited to read it!

Her eyes fell on the portrait of the Shadeslayer. Tall and regal, he stood with his sword resting point down on the ground, his hands resting lightly on the pommel. He had a captivating smile on his face, and the warmth from the smile had only just reached his light brown eyes, showing that he also possesed force of bearing and a hint of ruthlessness. His hair was a deep chocolate, curling over his intelligent brow, with hints of gold as the light from the setting sun hit the left side of his face. He wore a simple yellow tunic belted at the waist with black leggings and a royal blue cloak embroidered with silver. The light caught his face in such a way that it showed off his high, rounded cheekbones, rendering him even more handsome. He stood with his back to a range of snowcapped mountains. Kira sighed with longing; even as a portrait he was enchanting! The caption said that this portrait had been when he was thirty seven years old.

Next was a portrait of Arya Dröttningu. Technically she was Arya Dröttning, but that had been for such a short time that it was rarely counted. She wore a light white dress with flowing sleeves that reached her wrists. A delicate golden girdle set with jade encircled her waist. A similar circlet bound her long hair back just enough to stop it falling on her face, but it still fell across her shoulders, dark and lustrous. Her deep green eyes sparkled, and her lips were full and light red, curving up in a light smile that was not enough to dispel the air of comman about her. Everything about her was perfect, from her nose and cheekbones to her lissom figure. She looked everything she had been; elegant, beautiful, dignified. She stood in a position similar to the Shadeslayers', her hands resting on Támerliens' pommel. Kira sighed again; of course, with someone like her around, there was no way he would have looked at any other woman. And she had to admit that they were extraordinarily suited for each other.

She shook herself; she only had a limited time to read the scroll. Her father needed it back tomorrow, and she could not waste this precious time mooning over portraits, though she yearned to devour the portraits of Bjartskular and Thorn and Murtagh and Nasuada and Fírnen and Stronghammer and Katrina and Angela and Elleya and Glenwing the second and Evandar the second and Angela the Second and Orrin and Orik and Yaela, the Fallen one and Blödhgarm, the Lovelorn One and Maya, the Silver Rider and Kitai, the Golden Rider and Këyal, the Blood Rider and- Aaaaaarrghh! She could not! But maybe if she finished reading quickly-

She let her eyes fall on the first line.

"_After leaving Alagäesia, the Shadeslayer and the Bjartskular travelled southeast with their company of nine elves until . . ." _


	2. Chapter 1 : Reunion

**A/N:Hmm. This one is kinda long. I'm still not perfectly satisfied with it. **_**Please**_** tell me anything you think is wrong, even if the tiniest of nothings. I need to be a better writer!**

†

Eragon stood at the doors to the Hall, waiting for- There! A spark of green fire arced through the azure heavens. Eragon could hardly contain his joy. Finally, he was going to meet Arya in person after three years! Finally, the turmoil in his heart would be resolved . . . one way or another. Finally, the new generation of Riders was here!

It took a lot of effort to restrain himself from whooping with joy and rushing down to meet them, but he did. Saphira, however, was not that controlled. She gave a tremendous bugle of exultation and reared up, though she managed to keep herself on the ground. Her joy increased his own. Looking around at the elves, he saw that they too had expressions of beautiful joy and excitement on their refined faces.

The green spark seemed to divide into four more; a red one, a brown one, a black one, and a pink one, all glittering in the morning light. Wait . . . a pink dragon? His brow furrowed. Had he given Arya a pink dragon egg?

Well, anyway, he or she was a dragon, part of a new hope. Color wouldn't be a bar.

The dragons were quite close now. He could see them more clearly. All of them except the red one had the gangly look of youth. And he could see Arya! A gold circlet gleaming on her brow, her hair flying back, her eyes gleaming with inexpressible joy, back in the same dark shirt and pants she used to wear among the Varden, still looking as perfect as the day he had first seen her . . . his heart did a completely involuntary flip and ended up somewhere in his throat. Mirror conversations were never the same, and she had always seemed so, well . . . brusque, distant, whenever he had talked to her. And he had rarely been able to talk, what with the construction of the Hall and dealing with the natives . . . He composed himself. Time enough to moon over Arya; right now he had to concentrate on not leaping down the steps like a madman.

The wind from the dragons' wings now whipped up clouds of dust, and a . . . well . . . thunderous sound was caused by the beating of the thunders' wings. _(a thunder of dragons) _They touched down. Arya leapt down lightly from Fírnens' back before his wings had even stopped flapping and ran to stand in front of Eragon, her face still suffused with excitement and joy. The five-day trip from Alagaësia had not tired her at all.

'Shadeslayer.' She bowed slightly.

'Shadeslayer.' He bowed in return, grinning. She let out the most carefree laugh he had ever heard her give and then - to his surprise - hugged him. He gladly returned the embrace, though he was a little mystified. When had she suddenly become so casual?

Far above them, Saphira and Fírnen were having their own reunion and spared little thought for their partners.

She pulled back a little to look into his face. 'You're taller!' she exclaimed. 'My eyes are on level with your nose.'

He smiled. 'Well, three years have had their effect upon me.'

Her smile suddenly faltered. He thought he almost heard her say, 'Upon me as well.'

Actually, now that the happiness had drained from her face, he could see that she was looking tired and worn.

'I apologise, did I say something wrong, Svit-Kona?' he asked hesitantly.

A shadow crossed her face when he said that, but almost immediately the smile was back in place. 'Of course not!' But she still stepped away from him. Maybe she was embarrassed to hug him in front of the young Riders? All of whom, he now noted, were staring at them curiously.

Arya moved to greet the elves, and Eragon scrutinised the new Riders. The pink dragon seemed to be matched with a slender, snow-white maiden of fifteen summers. She had burnished gold hair, deep purple eyes, and rosy, delicate lips; in short, she was guaranteed to knock out any man at twenty paces. She blushed slightly under his gaze. Nevertheless, she did not avert her eyes, and there was a definite sense of strength about her. Anyone who underestimated her because of her looks would speedily discover his or her mistake. She reminded Eragon of Nasuada. And Elva as well, with those beautiful yet haunting purple eyes.

The elf seemed to be paired with the ruby-red dragon looming up behind him. He was quite young; Eragon judged him to be around thirty years old. He still retained some of the silvery sheen of elvish youth. His hair was raven black, straight and well-cut, and his eyes were a bright green, lighter than Aryas'. He was handsome, as all elves were; but there was something familiar about him. Maybe the curve of his mouth, the lift of his eyebrows . . . ? They reminded Eragon of-

'May I introduce the Riders, Eragon?'

He started slightly. 'Please do, Arya.' he replied hastily. _Saphira, listen! _Saphira grudgingly disengaged herself from Fírnen. _The Riders don't look like much, _she sniffed.

_And the dragons?_

_Young, but they will be great. They _are_ dragons, after all._

_Of course._

_Was that sarcasm?_

'Osra, step forward, please.' The young Urgal complied. Her horns were polished and delicate, despite their size. Her hair was long and lustrous, braided into a thick black rope that swung by her hips, and her eyes were a deep, translucent blue.

'Firesword.' She bared her throat. He did likewise, smiling,'I'm very pleased you're here, Osra. The first Urgal Rider!'

She smiled as well. 'Yes. My uncle was very proud. He bade me give you his greetings.'

'Your uncle . . . ?'

'Nar Garzhvog,' she clarified.

'Ah! I'm glad he remembered me.' And indeed, he was. Nar Garzhvog was a good warrior and a good person, someone he was glad to know.

_She will make her uncle proud, I think, _said Saphira. Eragon agreed, noting the Urgals' air of determination.

'May I introduce my dragon, Mánya,' she said. The brown dragon beside her took a heavy step forward.

Eragon opened his mind to Mánya, and she said _I'm very glad to meet you, Shadeslayer. I hope I learn much from you and Saphira-ebrithil._

Eragon felt pride at being adressed as ebrithil flow into him from Saphira. He ignored her and answered Mánya, 'I hope you will as well, Mánya-finiarel. I am truly glad that Osra-finiarel has such a perfect match.'

Mánya did not answer. She simply allowed her pleasure to be felt, and then stepped back. Saphira repeated the exchange, brushing her snout along the pairs' foreheads.

_A pair of few words, that, _commented Saphira.

_Aye. But if they learn and work well, that will not matter. _

The next was Ravûn and his black dragon. Ravûn was a dwarf of five-and-twenty with curly chestnut hair, laughing grey eyes, a rather handsome face, and a lively spirit. Just seeing him would brighten up anyone's day. His dragon was smaller than usual, to adapt to his (or her) Riders' stature.

'Greetings, Argetlam! We are very pleased to be here!' Eragon could not doubt that; the boy veritably buzzed with enthusiam. He could feel a responding smile spreading across his own face.

'I'm glad to hear that, Ravûn. May I know which clan you are from?'

The dwarfs face fell a bit. 'Az Swelden rak Anhûin.' he answered softly.

'Ah, I see.' No wonder he looked so crestfallen- he had probably been ostracised from his clan for becoming a Rider. Eragon clapped his shoulder and tried to look as encouraging as possible; he sincerely liked this dwarf and wanted him to be happy. 'Never mind, you will find a new family with us. Do not doubt yourself.' Ravûn nodded, seeming heartened.

'May I know your name now, please?' Eragon adressed the dragon.

_My name is Dreya, Shadeslayer, _a deep, female voice announced.

Eragon blinked. He had been expecting a male.

_I've no doubt you were, Argetlam, _came the dry response.

'My apologies, Dreya-finiarel. I did not mean to insult you.'

A sense of acceptance came from her. That pair was rather strange . . . a lively, confident, cheerful Rider together with a sarcastic, bold, wary dragon; but they balanced each other out. Saphira repeated the exchange.

The third Rider was the beauty. She smiled as she spoke in a strong, confident voice. 'My name is Zelíe, Shadeslayer. I'm from Belatona. And this-' she gestured to the pink drgon, 'is Rosalie. We both are very excited to be here.' And he just could not doubt her. She was so confident, so forthright, he could tell instantly that she would never lie, not even to console someone. Eragon wondered what she had had to go through to become this person, soemone who was always just slightly defiant, slightly wary; and at such a young age!

He answered, 'I'm glad to know that, Zelíe. I hope we live up to your expectations.' He then opened his mind to Rosalie and said, 'And yours as well, Rosalie.'

She responded, _Thank you, Shadeslayer._ She was quieter, her mind-voice clear yet demure; but she was just as strong as Zelíe. _Woe betide those who cross her path, _Eragon thought dryly.

_Indeed._ Saphira then proceeded to repeat the exchange again.

The last pair consisted of the familiar elf and his ruby dragon. He stepped forward, twisting his hand over his sternum.

'Atra esterní ono thelduin, Argetlam.'

'Atra du evarínya ono varda, . . . ?'

'Këyal,' he supplied. 'Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr.'

'Eka elrun ono, Këyal-finiarel.'

Këyal bowed, a slight smile lifting his face. Eragon continued,'I'm very glad you're here.'

'It has been my dream, Argetlam.'

Eragon hesitated. 'Pardon me, but you seem familiar. Did I perchance see you at the Ageatí Blödhren, or perhaps in Ellesmera . . .?'

'No, Argetlam. But you are familiar with my brother, Vanir.'

'Ah, of course. How is he getting along?' That was why! Këyal was quite similar to Vanir; he had the same air of arrogance that Vanir used to have. _There'll be trouble with him before we're through._

'Quite well. He enjoys his work and has great respect for Queen Nasuada and King Grimmr.' Eragon did not miss the omission of Orrins' name. He also noticed Aryas' brief amusement and the other students' looks of chagrin at his apparent familiarity with Këyal.

'I see.' He smiled as he adressed the dragon. 'May I know your name?'

_My name is Layla, Argetlam! _ chimed a cheerful female voice. Just those five words had Eragon grinning like an idiot fox. Layla was even happier than Ravûn! And he liked her name. It made sense, seeing as the name for 'ruby' in the ancient language was 'laeil'.

'Glad to know you, Layla! If I'd known you were so enthusiastic to meet us, I would have given you a better reception-'

_Oh no, this is wonderful! To meet you and Saphira-ebrithil and all these talented spellcasters. . . . Këyal has been going on about meeting them for ages._

Eragon laughed. 'Well then, we will go inside, where you may meet your celebrities in greater comfort, Këyal.' The elf looked mortified and gratified at once. He swatted Laylas' leg.

Eragon took a deep breath. He hoped that what he was about to say next was not too forward, and that it struck a chord, and that his students – strange to think that, _his_ _students_ – would not resent him . . .

_Calm down, little one._

_Yes. I can do this. It's easy. I defeated Galbatorix, how hard can this be?_

Spahira rolled her eyes. Eragon mentally stuck his tongue out at her and then raised his voice to adress all of them at once.

'Before we enter the Hall, I wish to speak to you. There are some things you should know.

'Your training will extend for a period of about eight years. Six, if you have completed tuatha du orothim with Arya Dröttning. The next batch of Riders will be here in three years, which means that you will help with their training as well. A lot of dragon lore has been lost in the hundred-odd years during which Galbatorix held sway-' the dragons hissed in unison at the name of the Black King, '-but the world has changed, and we must relearn. I do not mean that we will not have help; at this very moment, we have over a thousand boooks in our library, copies of the best in human, elven, and dwarven literature. We even have copies of some books written by Riders, and those especially will guide us.

'Now, a few rules. You four are the beginning of a new hope, and so must behave as such. It will not do to have you seen quarrelling or fighting in public; that will disturb people, make them fearful. At the Hall, you will treat all of us with respect. You may address Saphira and I as ebrithil in the ancient language and as master in this one, naught else. These-' he gestured to the elves in turn,'- are Blödhgarm-elda, Yaela-elda, Invidia-elda, Othün-elda, Talía-elda, Ayana-elda, Zayn-elda, Rëya-elda, and Zoë-elda. They are at the very least four times your age and are all accomplished spellweavers and warriors. You will treat them with utmost courtesy and do the same amongst yourselves. You are all different from each other, which is well; it signifies an equal beginning for all the races in the shaping of the fate of Alagäesia. But keep in mind that your fellow Riders may have different beliefs or values; accept them, or, at the very least, do not challenge them before understanding them.

'Here at the Hall, you will learn magic, diplomacy, the customs of each race, swordfighting, archery, science, medicine, mindblocking, and much more. Saphira and I will do our best to teach you; keep in mind that we are not very much older than you. Two of you are older than us!' Eragon smiled ruefully. 'But we have been through far more than you have ever dreamed of, and so we make up for our years by possessing what you don't- experience. If we are failing to fulfill the standards you expect of us, feel free to say so. But-' he allowed a hint of steel to enter his voice,'-we expect some effort on your part as well.

'You will work hard and quickly, for Alagäesia needs you as soon as possible. You will _not underestimate your importance. _You are the Riders, continuing a legacy of thousands of years. This is not a burden to be borne lightly. I had to bear it when I was but sixteen, and I fully intend on inflicting it upon you.' He smiled slightly, and his students relaxed as slightly.

'The Riders were teachers, healers, and helpers, not just warriors. They were respected, not feared. Understand the difference; we do not need another Galbatorix.' The dragons hissed again, and the younglings looked indignant. 'I do not mean that I think you will, be, but I wish to make my position clear to you all. I have no wish to be your enemy. I want to like you and get to know you, to be your teacher and your friend. And I hope-' he now smiled warmly,'-that that will happen.'

'Now, we will eat, I'm sure you all must be tired from the trip. Today, you may all rest. Tomorrow, I will talk to you and clarify any doubts you may have about being a Rider.'

_What about the armoury? Their swords? _Saphira asked.

He hesitated, shooting a quick glance up at her. 'Also, if you wish, we can visit the armoury. We recovered hundreds of Riders swords, atleast one will be sure to fit you. But it can wait until tomorrow . . .'

'May we please see today?' asked Osra eagerly.

'Yes, of course. But for now, come in. You all must be starving.'

Everyone relaxed. The Riders streamed into the Hall, concentrating on reaching food as fast as possible. The others followed at a more leisurely pace. Arya walked next to Eragon, murmuring,'Well done, ebrithil!' He chuckled in response.

"It's an impressive castle you have constructed.' she continued.

'Yes it is, isn't it?' He turned his head to absorb the sight of her beautiful eyes;

And nearly walked into Ayana, who was trying to peer over Zayns' broad shoulders. There seemed to be a holdup. He pushed his way to the front of the new Riders, worried that something had happened; but they were just staring at the Tower. Osra and Zelíe were standing stockstill, awestruck. The boys were a bit more composed, having seen or heard of such structures, but even they could not hide their stunned expressions. He sighed with relief, glad that nothing worse had happened.

The Hall was a massive building that, even with the elves' magic and the abundant resources in the new land, had taken all of two years to erect on top of the cliff, Ilianbaen. It faced west, towards Alagäesia. Its northern side faced uncharted jungles, lakes, mountains and wastelands. Its southern and eastern sides faced the ocean. It was made of a smooth, banded material that seemed to be between wood and stone. All the entrances and passageways were large enough to admit dragons the size of Glaedr, in preperation for future Riders and the growth of their dragons. There were over a thousand rooms including the training room, armoury, Dragon Room, kitchen, and dining hall, spread out over the North and South wings that flanked the Tower.

The Tower was a huge, cylindrical stucture that was nearly as large as Farthen Dûr. It was open to the sky to allow dragons easy passage. It had a cover for when the weather was violent, but even with the cover closed, it was large enough to allow several dragons flying space. Softly glowing Erisdar were dotted around its inner wall. Right now, it was open, allowing a thick shaft of light to enter and illuminate the motes of dust floating in the air.

The base of the Tower had a . . . garden was too insufficient a word. Jungle might be closer. It was divided into quadrants by white marble paths, again, big enough for Belgabad. The northeastern and southeastern quadrants were where all the crops and fruits were grown; maize, wheat, rice, cotton, plums, peaches, apples, mangoes, strawberries, tomatoes, eggplant, and many more. The southwestern quadrant held the Maze, a huge intricate puzzle made of tightly interwoven trees which took hours to escape from; and the northwestern quadrant held an exquisite garden with fountains, trellises, and benches, as large as the gardens at Tíaldari Hall. All kinds of exotic plants grew here; plants that glowed, plants that poisoned, plants that healed . . . the most beautiful flowers and delicious fruit flourished in the enchanted atmosphere.

The five newcomers were stunned. Arya let out a soft breath. 'It's . . . magnificent!' Eragon nudged her, smiling, pointing to the closest flowers; velvety black blossoms with throats of royal blue. She walked over to them and knelt, caressing them with tender fingers. She looked up at him, her eyes ever so slightly misty. 'Eragon . . . you should not have.'

He shrugged. 'I wanted to. Wiol ono.' He could not believe his audacity, but she had not thrust him away, so perhaps . . .

The others moved on, leaving them alone together.

†

She ducked her head, pretending to study the flowers. The tears brimmed over, tracing a path down her left cheek. She did not know why she was affected so; it was just . . . his thoughtfulness, his care for her; it was touching. She managed to brush her tears away without him noticing, glad that the Riders had gone ahead with the elves. Eragon still waited next to her. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Arya, we must continue if we wish to stay with the others.'

'Of course.' She rose, managing to keep a tolerable control of herself-

-until she saw the _other _flowers.

Creepers laden with pretty, pale blue, bell-shaped blooms decked an arched, intricate metal trellis. She quickly strode to them, and stroked them carefully. 'Loivissa,' she murmured.

Eragon said, 'I was unable to gild them for you, but if you are satisfied . . .' She could_ hear _that grin in his voice.

She looked at him, meeting his eyes squarely, and opened her mouth, full of emotion. She longed to say the words that lay heavy on her tongue, but as she gazed into his now-inquiring eyes . . . she could not. Not now.

She abruptly turned away and started walking, muttering mechanically, 'We must stay with the others.'

Her heart ached for him. Now, she was sure. Now, if he asked, she would gladly be with him. Three fretful years apart, with rare mirror-conversations . . . they had indeed taken their toll. Fírnen had been so worried about her. She smiled ruefully, remembering his concern. But Eragon was not as he used to be . . . he had changed. Gone was the enthusiastic, curious, love-struck boy, and in his place was a polite, confident man who was so adept at controlling his face that she had no idea what he was thinking!

Oh, what she would give to have him back; her familiar friend, her constant companion, her soothing comforter . . . her precious love. She had no idea if he was even the same person, no idea if he felt the same. . .

They made their way to the spacious dining hall for lunch. She was preoccupied; she ate but sparingly, though the food was delicious.

The rest of the day, she was shown over the whole Hall, but she could not concentrate on what she was seeing. She received a few impressions- well-constructed, beautiful, and enormous; but she was mainly focused on what she could do about Eragon.

By the time her head lay on her pillow, she had decided. Tomorrow, she _would_ tell Eragon what she felt-and hang the consequences. He had promised her that his feelings wouldn't change.

He'd better keep that promise. He _had _to keep that promise. If her heart was broken again . . .

She wasn't sure it could ever be mended.

†

Ilianbaen-place of happiness

Wiol ono- for you


	3. Chapter 2: Finally!

**A/N: This chapter is going to have the first AryaXEragon scene! Quite good, if I do say so myself. BTW, words in the ancient language are italicized with quotes. Italicized words with no quotes are thoughts.**

**Disclaimer: The awesome Christopher Paolini owns everything. I only own Selena, Jack, Evandar(the second), Elleya, Aiedail- basically all the kids in this story-Osra, Mánya, Akhtar, Jethran, Këyal, Layla, Ravûn, Dreya, Sorya, Katara, Dara, Celesté, Zelíe, Rosalie, Kitai, Tavros, Senshi, Ikran, Caspian, and Lífaen.**

†

Arya was awoken by a soft knock on her door. 'Enter,' she called.

Eragon tentatively stepped inside the room, and her heart stopped. She was barely dressed!

She could feel heat rising in her face to the tips of her pointy ears. Why, oh why did she have to blush now? She could only hope that the dim light and her honey skin would succeed in concealing it.

'I apologise for awaking you at this early time, Svit-Kona, but I must needs show you something before the others wake.'

'Of course. If you could step outside the room for a moment, I will be with you shortly.'

As the door closed, she berated herself. Why was she being so formal? That wasn't going to help her! She quickly threw on a tunic and a pair of leggings, ran a comb through her thick hair, and was outside the door in a minute. He smiled. Her heart stopped. Again.

_If you liked him anymore, I'd be trying to kiss him myself._

_Fírnen, keep your mouth shut._

_It is._

_Then keep your . . . mind . . . shut! _Even as she thought that she knew how inane it sounded, and blocked her dragon as he started laughing.

They set off.

'Where are we going?' she asked.

'The Dragon Room, Svit-Kona.' He faced straight ahead, moving swiftly with his long,easy stride.

'Would you please stop calling me that?' Her quiet words were tinged with pain. She hated this smooth, formal stranger. 'My name is Arya, and therefore that is what I should be called. Is that not so?'

His face, as he turned to give her a quick look, was expressionless. 'As you wish, Svi- Arya.'

They crossed from the South Wing to the North wing, passing through the garden. It was so vast that it took them fifteen minutes to cross, even with their elvish speed. Once they reached the North Wing, Eragon looked around furtively, and then pressed a tiny button set in the stone wall of the main corridor. The section of wall to their right slid noiselessly upward, and there was . . . nothing. Naught but a small room, empty of any furnishing.

Aryas' brow furrowed slightly as she sought an explanation. Surely this was not the Dragon Room?

Eragon quickly went over to the top left corner of the room and knelt. Placing his hand on the floor, he muttered, '_Reveal.' _A line of light flashed from his palm and traced a large square on the dusty floor. The square of light glowed for a moment before fading into oblivion. There, on the floor, was now the clearly marked outline of a trapdoor. 'Ladrín,' Eragon commanded. The trapdoor quietly opened, revealing a set of stone steps heading underground. By every seventh step, two red Erisdar glowed on either wall.

'After you.' Eragon moved back to let Arya enter the passageway. She stepped down carefully, he eyes adjusting to the gloom. Once they did, it was a simple matter to descend, though the steps were steep. The staircase spiralled downwards, deeper into the ground.

After nearly eighty steps, by her reckoning, they reached a tall set of narrow,gilded doors, exquisitely carved with scenes from the dragons' history. There was Du Fyrn Skulblaka, the time of the Riders, their near extinction, and their revival. Eragon was there, cradling an egg in the forest. He now said, '_I, Eragon Shadeslayer, have the permission of Umaroth to eneter this room.' _And the doors swung inward to reveal the Dragon Room.

The Dragon Room was a large, octagonal room. At its center stood Cuaroc, a motionless statue. A huge bronze brazier burned bright behind him, casting him in deep shadow. The Room was lined with shelves all the way up to the high ceiling. The shelves on its left side held the eggs while the other shelves held the Eldunarí, which pulsed with a steady light. There was no need for the Erisdar here; the fire and the Eldunarí provided all the light needed to see.

Eragon then said, '_I, Eragon Shadeslayer, give Arya Dröttning permission to enter the Dragon Room_', and she found herself able to step inside. She knew she should be awestruck, but she had seen this place in Saphiras' memories that had reached her through Fírnen too many times to admire the Room itself; what she revered was the fact that this room contained the last fragment of the dragons' history, as well as their last hope for survival.

Arya gave the room a cursory glance, and something caught her eye. She walked up to a silver dragon egg three feet wide and just touched it with her fingertips. 'Eragon, will you give me this egg as part of the next batch?' There was something special about this egg. It had a sense of destiny about it; a sense that it would bridge an important gap.

'Of course, if you wish it, Arya. Would you like to choose the others as well?'

After some time, she chose a blue egg, a white egg, and a green egg to go with the silver one. All the while, she kept up a flow of light, easy chatter with Eragon, and he responded as easily. It seemed as though she was getting her old friend back . . .

_Arya, the sun is up. _Fírnens' voice startled her. _You should get back soon._

_Thank you, my prince._ She hadn't realised how late it was getting. He responded with a wave of affection at the endearment, knowing that he was forgiven for his teasing.

_May we fly today?_ He was almost pleading.

_Of course! I'm dying to fly through the Tower._ His joy caused her to grin broadly.

'What is it?' Eragon had noticed.

She tapped her temple. 'Fírnen. He was informing me that the sun has risen.'

He nodded. 'Yes, we should leave. None must know we were here.'

'Why not?' she asked, as they left the Room and started climbing the stairs. 'Do you think the students will endanger the Eldunarí? Their dragons do not have such bad judgement.'

'I have no doubt of the dragons' judgement,' he responded. 'I have noticed how they seem to have taken the care to have chosen young and . . . physically pleasing Riders; I suspect to put the public at ease. No one would suspect Zelíe of being a danger. But I wish to be safe; I will introduce them to the concept of Eldunarí in a year.'

By this time they had reached the small antechamber. Eragon climbed out first, and then courteously offered a hand to assist her. She made no move to take it, but simply looked at him with a slight smile, arching an eyebrow. He chuckled and withdrew his hand. She gracefully climbed out and moved to the corridor.

'You should know me better by now.' She turned to face him.

He smiled, but his voice was touched with . . . regret? 'I wish I did.'

She was forever thankful that at just that moment, Saphira and Fírnen appeared at the end of the corridor, for she had had absolutely no idea what to reply.

_You're welcome, _Fírnen said. She smiled ruefully.

_I suppose it's too much too hope that you haven't told Saphira how I feel about Eragon?_

_You would suppose right, _he said cheerily.

She shared her exasperation with him, but he was not at all remorseful.

_I know you're dying to ask, Arya._

_Ask what? I don't know what you're talking about._

_Hard to believe that when you can read my mind, _he said dryly._ You're dying to ask if Eragon still loves you, because you're frightened by who he has become._

_He hasn't become anyone. He's just the same._

_Exactly what Saphira said. So you can stop worrying._

_I wasn't-_

_Of course you weren't. So, when are we going to fly?_

She glared at him, but decided to let it pass; it wasn't worth the energy.

_Perhaps in the afternoon._

'What will you be doing with the Riders today?' she asked Eragon.

'I will tell them the history of the Riders, what it means to be a Rider, and our abilities. I also wish to learn more about them,' he replied, as he touched the button that would bring the wall down again.

'I see. Only . . .'

'Yes?' She thought she might be mistaken, but had she seen a hint of eagerness in his eyes?

Did she dare . . .?

'I wished to speak to you. Privately. Is there any place we could be alone?' She had taken the plunge. Hopefully . . .

'Yes, there is any number of empty rooms here. But perhaps in the evening?'

'Of course. I will see you then.'

She abruptly wheeled about and left, concious of a desire to leap into the air, shouting with ecstasy.

†

Eragons' head spun as he watched Aryas' graceful figure receding. Had that really just happened? Had Arya just asked to be with him alone?

_Oh, get over it, _Saphira groaned. _This would be so much simpler if you were a dragon._

_It would, wouldn't it? _Eragon grinned, but his face grew warm as he remembered how Saphira and Fírnen had reacted to each other the first time they'd met.

He now adopted a patronising tone.

_But you see, Miss Saphira, this is part of the magic of being in love. I wouldn't expect a mere dragon to understand._

_A mere dragon? Dragons are the most powerful, wise, majestic, beautiful, graceful, brave, ferocious-_

_Vain, proud, touchy, _he continued dryly.

Her huge paw struck him in the chest and pinned him to the floor, bringing her huge head directly over him. His head slammed into the hard floor and he saw stars.

_Saphira, that hurt!_ he complained.

Her eyelid went _snick!_ as she blinked, obscuring the giant blue orb of her eye for a heartbeat. After a moment, she released him. He slowly got up, rubbing his head.

_You're lucky I don't shake you like a hatchling for that comment, _she sniffed.

He grinned ingratiatingly at her, and felt her mood soften. He patted her side.

_Let's go get some breakfast._

After breakfast, Eragon and his students gathered in the spacious training hall, which was stocked with every weapon imaginable, from maces and axes to bows and lances. They sat in cross-legged positions on the floor, all the new Riders listening intently to Eragon, who was describing to them the history of the Riders. He knew he shouldn't rush his narration, but he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so that he could meet with Arya. He took a deep breath and composed himself. It would not benefit either the Riders or Alagäesia if he did not teach well.

He started off with the reasons for the formation of the Riders – Du Fyrn Skulblaka – then went on to speak about Anurin, Vrael, and Galbatorix and the Wyrdfell. They were getting closer to the part that Eragon suspected they most wanted to hear; about how he had defeated Galbatorix. He smiled to himself and continued.

Next came Brom and his role in starting the Varden and arranging the deaths of several of the Forsworn. Eragon could not speak about this without getting a small lump in his throat. When he saw Zelíe looking at him quizzically, he said shortly, 'He was my father.'

He ignored their varied expressions and continued about how Hefring had stolen Saphiras' egg, how Arya had ferried it back and forth between the elves and the Varden, how Durza had attacked her due to which she had sent it to him, how she had hatched for him, how his uncle had been killed by the Ra'zac-

'What are Ra'zac?' asked Ravûn.

'They are a race of evil, vile creatures that prey upon humans and hatch from eggs and look like black, twisted humans until they reach maturity, whereupon they shed their exoskeletons and transform into huge, hairless creatures with leathery wings, called Lethrblaka in the ancient language. They cannot use magic but can incapacitate humans with their gaze, which inspires fear. They are creatures of the dark and hate light and deep water. They are now extinct; I killed the last one. They had been eradicated under the old Riders.'

'Oh.' The dwarfs' voice was suddenly very small.

He continued his narrative, struggling to keep his voice from breaking when he talked about Broms' death; he had talked about it before, but somehow it was different with these youngsters listening, their solemn faces giving hints of the sympathy they felt.

He continued speaking, his deep voice filling the room. Two hours had passed by the time he had finished recounting all of his experiences. The questions his listeners had put to him were extremely pertinent and confirmed that he had succeeded at drawing sufficiently accurate conclusions about their characters. Osra, especially, was deeply intelligent; she rarely spoke, but when she did, it was either a clever remark or an insightful question.

When their session was over, it wwas far past noon and he felt fairly certain that all of his students now knew the basics of magic and had a clear idea about what being a Rider meant.

After lunch, he watched the four new dragons twist and spin though the Tower while Fírnen and Saphira watched, giving suggestions and rather harsh criticism.

By the time he was though with them, the stars were twinkling bright in the blue-black sky. He set off to look for Arya, and finally found her on a terrace with Fírnen, the breeze playfully tossing her long hair about. Her slim hand rested lightly on his huge green side, rising and falling with his breathing. He was about to call out to her, but paused, struck by the majestic sight they presented together. He must have made some small sound though, for she turned. She nodded and came towards him. Suddenly, Fírnens' huge head swung between them. He ruffled her glossy hair with his breath, and slowly blinked. She smiled faintly, and patted his head. The jade dragon moved his head back again, allowing her to pass, and she came up to Eragon, completely composed and dignified.

'Good evening, Arya. There is an empty room just here to talk . . .'

He showed her into a small room nearby, that was furnished with naught but a small couch and a far smaller table with a single, dusty candle on it. French windows led onto the very same terrace, and long, white curtains fluttered gently by them. They both sat down awkwardly on the couch, Eragon having lit the candle; it was barely big enough for the two of them.

'So . . .' He tried to be nonchalant, which was hard seeing as they were together on a tiny couch and she was barely four inches away from him. 'What was it you wished to talk to me about?"

She was still perfectly calm.

†

She was trying extremely hard to look perfectly calm, but her heart was hammering somewhere in her throat. She didn't want to do this, she didn't want to do this . . .

But she had to.

She cleared her throat and began, 'Do you remember the day you met Fírnen?'

'Of course.' His voice revealed no particular excitement, but his chocolate eyes were suddenly glowing.

'I thought about what you said over the past three years, and . . .'

'And?' he prompted.

'And I realised that I . . .' Suddenly the words were stuck in her throat. She found it very difficult to meet his eyes. For gods sake! She was a queen, was she not? The daughter of Evandar and Islanzadí! But she had never been this nervous, not even when she had had to tell her mother about the yawë . . . And she had been doing so well, too!

'That you . . .?'

'That I was in love with you,' she said rapidly, feeling like the words were being pulled out of her. 'But I was not; I mean, I am still not certain, and-'

'We'll have to make up your mind then, won't we?' He cupped her left cheek in one warm hand, leaning forward eagerly.

She put her hands on his chest, pushing him away (though not very hard), and quickly said, 'Eragon, I don't think-'

'Don't be frightened, Arya.' He gathered her hands together in his free one, holding them against his chest. He was five inches away from her . . .

She managed to gather her wits enough to say, 'Frightened? I am most certainly not-'

'Is that why you're not pushing me away?' he murmured, his eyes hypnotizing pools of dark chocolate. Two inches . . .

She whispered, 'Yes, but-'

And then his soft lips brushed against hers gently and she _knew _that he was the love of her life and she was floating, floating away from this earth and it was the best feeling she had ever had and she never wanted this to end, she wanted to stay here kissing this amazing person for the rest of her life-

She flung up her arms around his neck with a half-whimper and pulled herself as close to him as she could, running her fingers into his hair, clutching it as though she were drowning to hold him pressed to her.

He slid his free arm about her waist, slid the other one about her shoulders, and pulled her onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. She curved perfectly into him and moved one hand down to his cheek. He moved his warm hand over hers, keeping it there.

They only broke the kiss ten minutes later, stopping for want of breath. She rested her head against his shoulder, the two breathing in unison.

After a time, Eragon said, 'Is that a yes, then?' His voice was alive with humor.

She smiled, and answered teasingly, 'Well, I don't know . . .'

'Oh, don't you?' He slowly slid his lips from her cheek to her neck, following the line of her jaw. She shivered slightly. When he reached the corner of her jaw and neck and pressed down with his teeth ever so slightly, she simply could not completely stifle the low moan that escaped her.

He chuckled. Then they kissed again, not passionately, like before, but softly, gently, slowly, lovingly. When they broke apart again, he arched an eyebrow, and she nodded, a shy smile adorning her face. He suddenly gave a huge laugh and, scooping her up, stood and strode out the door.

She laughed high and sweet, causing echoes to fill the corridor. She tried to get down, but in vain. 'I can walk, Eragon!' she protested half-heartedly.

He looked down at her and smiled, 'Humor me.' At that moment, not Illirea, not Du Weldenvarden, not Tíaldari Hall, not even Tronjheim could hold a candle to the beauty of the expression in his deep, warm eyes.

That was the moment she decided that she wanted to make that expression appear on his face for every single minute of the rest of her life.

He walked as slowly as possible, but they still reached her room within ten minutes. She expected him to put her down at the door, but he opened it by muttering, 'Ladrín,' and carried her to bed. Laying her down tenderly, he kissed her forehead and smoothed the sheets down over her.

'Eka lëya ono, Arya Dröttning,' he whispered, his eyes burning. I love you, Queen Arya.

She sat up, pondering her answer, suddenly nervous. She had been so sure until this moment that she loved him completely. But the ancient language would allow for no uncertainity. Was she _completely_ sure?

Then, she remembered the three years of agony, the waiting, the joy when she saw him, and above all, that expression in his eyes in the hallway, and she _knew._

'Eka lëya ono, Eragon Shadeslayer.'

†

Du Fyrn Skullblaka-the Dragon War

'**Lëya' is a word I made up for love, since there wasn't a word in the ancient language for it. Did you like the fluff scene? Do you want another one? Review and tell me! Please, I need crticism so badly . . . Thanks to Remedial for my first review, and to all you other guys who are following or have favourited this story!**


	4. Chapter 3 : Leavetaking

**A/N: This is really small, kinda like an interim chapter; sorry! But the next chapter is going to be surprising, it's so epic! I think it's my favourite.**

They met in that room everyday, after that.

They talked in murmurs, comforatable in each other's arms. They talked about their dreams and secrets and hopes and passions . . .

Sometimes, they didn't talk at all. During those times, their dragons forebore to disturb them and kept to themselves, remembering their Riders' similar forbearance when they were doing much the same thing.

During the day, they were sure not to give away any hint of what they felt for each other, but Eragon could not simply ignore Arya. A warm look, a hint of a smile, a slight nod; these sustained him throughtout the day. Eragon hated that they acted as such, but he knew that Arya was still insecure and tentative, so he let her have her way. When they talked in public, they talked politely and smoothly. Arya told Eragon about happenings in Alagäesia, how Murtagh had helped discover a small continent to the west, and how a flourishing trade had been set up between the two countries. Eragon told her about how they had discovered the native tribes in the lush forest surrounding the Hall, and how they had only managed to make peace with one tribe till now; apparently, they were scared of the dragons.

In the meantime, the Riders were shaping up well. Each of them had their own unique personality and fighting style.

Ravûn was working extremely hard, training nearly every minute of the day; pounding away with his weapons like he had something to prove, like he had to be the best he could to show his clan he was meant to be a Rider. His height was a disadvantage, but he never let that stop him; that bubbly exterior hid a core of steel. He was usually exhausted by evening, but in the mornings he was bright and excited, full of chatter. Even after training, he always had a kind word and a smile for everyone. He was surprisingly good at controlling his mind.

Osra was normally calm and patient, but a dangerous fighter when she had to be, or when she was angered. She had nearly pulverized Këyal once. Her height, power, and the society she came from gave her an edge over the Zelíe and Ravûn. But she was slowed down by her bulk, and was still unable to handle a bow well, though she practised whenever she could. Her mind was calm and orderly, resisting all but Eragon's strongest attacks.

Zelíe, of course, was very dedicated; almost more dedicated than Ravûn. She had had no idea how to handle any weapons at all; Eragon suspected she came from one of Belatona's rich families. But she trained intensely, struggling to hone her skills, including controlling her mind. She had very strong emotions and could rarely control them. She was improving, though, slowly but steadily.

Këyal, of course, did nothing to help. Eragon had been right in thinking that he would cause trouble. He treated all three of his fellow students with barely-veiled disdain. He held himself aloof from them and trained alone. When Eragon asked his students to spar with a partner, he shrugged as though he could care less and waited for his partner to approach him. The other three had actually worked out a lots system which they used before each class to decide who would spar with him. The unlucky one would do their best, but usually be disarmed within five seconds flat and be faced by the elf's sneer. Osra had had to physically restrain Zelíe from flying at him more than once. He only acted really insolent when Eragon wasn't around, though, and Eragon wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation because Këyal was an exemplary student. He was perfect at everything he knew how do to, and what he didn't know he learnt fast.

Two months flew by, and it was time for Arya to leave. It was a bright, crystal morning, the air shimmering with a hint of rain. Fírnen was in the process of tapping snouts with the five younger dragons. Eragon's heart twisted painfully as he watched Arya say her goodbyes to everyone who lived at the castle. He wished that she would never leave him.

†

Finally, she reached Eragon. He was staring down at her, uncertainity in his eyes.

Not knowing what else to say, she said, 'Farewell, Shadeslayer.' Formally, distantly.

'Farewell, Shadeslayer.' The left corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. Her mouth mirrored his involuntarily before she remembered that she was surrounded by people.

She turned abruptly and climbed on to Fírnen, avoiding Eragon's eyes. A rush of indecision and embarrasment burned her cheeks.

Fírnen leapt into laborious flight, the thunder of his wings hurting her sensitive ears. They gradually gained height and speed. He banked to the right, flying into the setting sun.

Regret was starting to twist its way into her mind, now. Why had she done that? He was bound to think that all their embraces and whispered confidences in that tiny room were meaningless to her now. Wasn't he? Why hadn't she been more expressive? What was she so scared of?

She leaned forward onto Fírnens' neck, closing her eyes tiredly, misery washing over her. Perhaps they weren't meant to be, after all . . .

It was a short while later that a faint, gentle prescence pressed against her mind. She granted it cautious entrance, ready for an attack. A jumble of words was thrust into her mind, and the prescence vanished. She frowned, carefully unravelling the foreign thoughts.

Only one sentence. It was from him! No accusation, no worry, no inquiry.

Only four words.

_Come back to me. _


	5. Chapter 4: Someone broke in!

Inheritance5

*:I enjoyed the way the story was laid out so that arya kept her shyness and the fact that you are a good writer and take time to think out the order of events and still keep all the juicy details if yu have any rough drafts that you think are no good pleaze publish them anyways i gaurantee they are still bettemost any story out there or*

**A/N: I have no idea who wrote that, but thank you, it's really sweet! To all the guest reveiwers as well, thank you so much for your support. Also, I'm really sorry that this chapter has taken so long; I've been a bit busy. I've got exams coming up as well, so don't expect Chapter 5 too soon . . . sorry about that! I particularly like this chapter, because it introduces one of my favourite Riders-in- training. Enjoy, and, as always, pleasepleasepleaseplease review! **

A year had trickled by, and Eragon had passed his twenty-second birthday a month earlier. He hadn't celebrated it or told anyone about it; for as he said to Saphira, _My getting older is not a miracle, and it is more important for my students to concentrate on their studies._

At present, he was spending the evening sparring with Osra in the huge training room, trying to teach her to block faster. She _was_ trying, but she simply could not overcome the disadvantage of her bulk. He spun to the right and struck, not taking advantage of the opening she had left in her defenses, which gave her time to lift her sword to block him. They held the position for a moment, then disengaged.

"Osra, you have to try harder. We have been working on this single issue for nigh on a week now." He was not harsh, only stern.

She cast her eyes downwards. He knew she hated her insufficiency, but he still had to press her. "I apologise, Master." Her rough voice was layered with embarrasment and self-directed disgust. "I will do better." She sounded as angry as the storm that howled outside.

He opened his mouth to reply encouragingly, but the words were choked in his throat as a ward flared to life in the back of his mind. At the same instant, Umaroth spoke with panic, _Eragon, get to the Dragon Room NOW! There are two intruders examining the eggs and I know not where Cuaroc is!_

Eragon was stock-still for a fraction of a second, immobilized by shock. Then Saphira roared in fury, and he leapt into motion, leaving the room as fast as his elvish speed could take him, Brisingr still in hand. He just barely heard a faint, "Master, what-?" from Zelíe before the rush of wind in his ears blocked out everything else. He quickly contacted the elves, but only Ayana, Talía and Blödhgarm were close enough to the Room to get there with him. Not for the first time, he cursed the sheer size of the Hall.

A huge thunderclap sounded, startling him, yet providing adrenaline that helped him run even faster.

_We have to have a faster way to travel through the Hall,_ he thought. This thought was secondary, though. Even as he sprinted through the Garden, he could not bring himself to believe that someone had actually broken into the Dragon Room. It was protected by the most secure spells possible to devise; only someone with permission from him, the elves, Saphira or one of the Eldunarícould possibly enter. Also, how would the intuders know of the Eldunarí, the most closely-guarded secret of the dragons? And how would they know the precise location of the button and the trapdoor? What had happened to Cuaroc?

He removed the spell that blocked Brisingr's edge, even as he ran.

_Maybe they think the eggs are jewels! _Saphira's mind-voice was colored with anger, surprise, and frustration at the fact that she wouldn't be able to enter the Dragon Room.

Eragon bared his teeth and willed his legs to move even faster. If anything had happened to the eggs . . .

But again, how would the intruders even know about the Room?

He skidded to a stop in front of the wall and slammed his fist into the button. Before the panel had even slid halfway upwards he ducked into the antechamber, barking out, "Ladrín!" The floor glowed in a square and the trapdoor swung open. He leapt down the stairs, hearing the sound of light, urgent footsteps above him; reinforcements had arrived.

As he jumped down the last five steps with the words of the opening phrase on his lips, the elves gathered behind him. Tala gripped his upper arm, murmuring, "Caution, Argetlam. Those who could enter here must surely have some great power. We should enter quietly, so we can take them by surprise."

He gave a short nod, and they all linked their minds together so as to be stronger in case of a mental attack. As Eragon laid a hand on a door, he paused. He thought he had heard- but no, it could not be.

Yet, there it was again; the sound of . . . a _child_ in the Dragon Room!

Blödhgarm cocked his head, ears swiveling forward as he listened to a boy's voice saying, "_Get up, Senshi! We have to leave! Can you walk?" _in . . . the_ ancient language?_

_How is this possible?_ Saphira exclaimed. _How has a child broken into the Room? Why, even Galbatorix would have struggled to break the enchantments protecting it!_

_Two children, actually, _Eragon replied, as a shaky female voice replied, "_I can stand . . ." _Then, "_My queen?" _The voice was panicked and uncertain.

He silently opened the door, and beheld two dark haired, brown-skinned children on the far side of the Room. Cuaroc was a silent statue by the brazier, which was burning low. The girl was just getting up, supported by the boy kneeling next to her. A purple hatchling lay on the floor by the girl, purple, jewel- like shards of eggshell littered the floor, and the boy balanced a gold egg in one hand.

Eragon pushed his bewilderment aside; for now, he had to concentrate on discovering whether these children were a threat and how they had discovered the Room. The four of them stepped forward as quietly as they could, but they must have made some tiny noise, for the boy whipped around, staring at them with luminous gold eyes. He hissed a warning to the girl, who quickly stood up. As the quartet swiftly advanced into the cavernous Room, the boy tucked the gold egg under his arm and muttered something to the girl, who shook her head vigorously, fear distorting her features. The boy viciously snapped at her, and she reluctantly picked up the hatchling, first seeming terrified, then relieved. Eragon guessed that she had expected another shock upon touching the dragon.

The girl murmured to the boy, and he shook his head. She glared at him. Her next words were loud enough for Eragon to hear, albeit faintly, _"We have no choice! The queen has abandoned us, and we are trapped. The least we can do is attempt to escape."_

It was now the turn of the boy to acquiesce. He nodded sharply and gripped her hand. The two waited until Eragon and the elves had passed the brazier, then seperated and ran along the walls of the room, aiming for the huge, gilded doors. A futile attempt; they would be caught before they managed to cover half the distance. Blödhgarm and Eragon headed off to intercept the girl, while Ayana and Talía went for the boy. As the girl saw them approaching, she increased her speed, almost falling on the smooth, stone floor. Eragon saw that she was wet through and barefoot. Another step and she did fall, hitting her head on the floor with a sickening _crack_. Eragon winced in sympathy. Surprisingly, the girl did not seem much hurt, only disoriented. She staggered to her feet. Seeing them so close seemed to drive her confusion away. She gave a small gasp and pressed herself against the wall, pawing at a sheath with one hand, hugging the hatchling closer to her chest. She managed to draw her dagger and raised it, ready to fight. As soon as she held it, she stopped trembling quite so much; she seemed to derive comfort from the touch of a familiar weapon. Her arm remained perfectly steady, betraying that she had been in fights countless times before. Her eyes darted behind them at intervals, watching the boy evade the female elves. Eragon did not turn around, but he could hear the boy's heavy breathing as he sought to escape and the thoughts of the elves as they tried to intercept him.

Blödhgarm shifted slightly, and her eyes immediately flashed to his face, watching him warily.

Eragon wasn't quite sure what to do; this girl was obviously no threat, or she wouldn't have run. She had entered the Room with no knowledge of magic, and yet she spoke in the ancient language. She had no idea of what a dragon was, but one had still hatched for her! She was an enigma. But was she destined to be a Rider?

Whether she was or not, a dragon had hatched for her. Eragon had to speak with her. For that, he needed to make her trust him, to reassure her that he was no threat. But before he could say a word, he heard a tiny tap-tap-tap from the other side of the Room. He whirled around, staring in disbelief as the gold egg started to hatch. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and watched as a small gold snout poked outside the egg. The boy was astounded. After a moment, he touched it tentatively-

-and fell screaming and thrashing to the floor as the terrible, ice-fire sensation rushed through him. Ayana quickly caught the egg as it fell, then knelt by the boy.

'Kitai!' the girl screamed, causing Eragon to start and face her. Tears were trickling down her cheeks, which somehow made her suddenly seem desperate and past her breaking point. One sensed that she would throw all caution to the winds if it would somehow save her brother. She feinted forward, causing Eragon and Blödhgarm to reflexively raise their blades

"_Who are you?" _she hissed._ "What is this . . . thing?" _She held the dragon up like it was diseased._ "Answer me, or it dies!" _She touched her dagger-tip to its throat.

Blödhgarm hissed savagely. She twisted the point of the blade, causing the hatchling to mewl fretfully. Tears still fell from her gold eyes like the rain outside.

Eragon would not believe she would actually kill her dragon, but she looked as though she would. Clearly, she had to be reassured. He sheathed Brisingr, motioned for Blödhgarm to do the same, and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"_Please, do not hurt it." _He spoke in the ancient language, like her._ "It will not harm you, and neither will we."_

Her eyes widened. She slowly sheathed her dagger.

"_We will not harm you," he repeated. "I apologise for scaring you. My name is Eragon."_

She cradled the dragon against her chest once more, seeming to relax slightly_. "Eragon." _She rolled the name around in her mouth, tasting the syllables.Warily, she asked,_ "Eragon, will this hurt me?" _She held out the dragon. Her eyes were now somehow pleading.

"_Not by intent. It is a child; it knows not what it does."_

"_I felt something . . . in my mind . . ." _She shuddered.

"_It was hungry, was it not?"_

She blinked, surprised._ "Yes. Also, it gave me this." _She tilted her palm outward, and the dim light glinted off of her newly formed gedwëy ignasia.

Eragon extended his own right palm. Her eyes darted to his face in surprise._ "You have one as well?" _

"_Yes, but she is rather larger than yours," _he smiled.

A small answering smile spread naturally across her face, banishing her hunted look and revealing that her wild features had a certain air of wild prettiness about them. Her ebony hair was beginning to dry off, and it curled charmingly, though it was bleached a dry brown from long exposure to the elements. Her gold eyes were large in her dark face, and her voice was surprisingly musical. She wore a rough dress, fashioned from leaves and animal hide. Eragon realized that she must be one of the tribals who lived in the forests to the north. But how on earth had a tribal learnt the ancient language?

_If it comes to that, _said Saphira, startling him,_ how did she get in? And how did she pick the exact egg to hatch for her?_

_Those are questions that will have to wait for later_, he replied_. Right now, she and her brother need to be taken care of._

"_I can answer any questions you may have," _he told the girl, "_but this is neither the time nor the place. At present, we need to feed your dragon and get you into some dry clothes. Are you hungry?"_

She cocked her head, evidently not expecting this, then gave a short nod.

"_Good," _he said briskly_. "We will get you some food. However, I do, need to ask you one thing . . . "_

She was listening intently, her bright eyes never leaving his face.

"_What is your name?"_

She blinked, surprised._ "My name is Senshi." _She wasn't hugging the wall anymore.

He laid a gentle hand on her back, starting to propel her forward. She shied away, reaching for her dagger instinctively.

Eragon felt a sudden flash of irritation, but he suppressed it. He knelt, staring directly into her eyes.

"_Senshi, are you afraid me?"_

She responded instantly._ "No."_

"_Are you wary of me?"_

She hesitated, then blurted out,_ "Yes." _

"_I am your friend, and I swear never to knowingly harm you in any way. I wish only to help you; and I think I will become your teacher as well, ere long. I ask only that you trust me in return. Can you do that for me?" _As he spoke, he possesed himself of her cold hand and pressed it lightly.

She met his kind gaze unwaveringly for a few long moments, her face unreadable: then she nodded, a sharp, descisive movement, and said confidently,_ "Yes, I can do that."_

Eragon was surprised at how happy those few words made him feel. He genuinely respected this girl and wanted her to trust him. He smiled warmly and stood, letting go of her hand._ "How about we get you and your dragon that food, then?"_

"_My what?" _She was bewildered.

He nodded to the hatchling, which was nibbling at her fingers._ "It is called a dragon."_

"_Oh." _

"_Come." _She followed him and Blodhgarm as they approached the others.

A rich chuckle from the boy, made loud by reverberating echoes, reached them, and Eragon perceived that Senshi's step grew quicker and her attitude more relaxed. She obviously had very strong feelings for the boy. He was probably her brother; there was a marked resemblance between the two.

The boy was tall and well-muscled, perhaps about fifteen years old. His features were honed to sharpness by years of strife, his face lean. He wore only a kind of loincloth made of leaves and hides, like Senshi. A dagger hung in its sheath from a cord slung about his waist. He shared his thick, dark, sun-bleached hair with his sister, as well as his eyes, complexion, and wild beauty. He moved with a kind of coiled alertness, as though the energy in his spare frame could barely be contained. In fact, he rather reminded Eragon of Blodhgarm; someone who would not seek out conflict, but if it became necessary, would fight with savage enjoyment.

The boy's eyes flickered from Eragon to Blödhgarm as he tried to decide whtether they were threats or not, and his hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. Senshi spoke a few soft words in a strange language, and the boyrelaxed.

The two small groups had reached each other by now. Ayana sang out, "We have convinced Kitai that we are no threat, but he requies some further proof in the form of a meal."

Eragon grinned in response. "_You are Senshi's brother?"_ he asked the boy.

"_We are twins."_

"_And your name is Kitai?"_

"_Yes."_

_I am right oustside the panel,_ Spahira said suddenly. _Hurry up, would you?_

_We're on our way. _

In another five minutes, the six of them had emerged from the trapdoor. As Eragon caused the panel to open, he wondered how the two would react to his dragon.

The panel slid up silently to reveal Saphira's huge, gleaming cerulean eye. Kitai instinctively jerked backwards, hissing. He yanked his dagger from its sheath and tried to drag his sister back with him. She, however, was fascinated, and shook him off, stepping forward. She raised one hand to touch Saphira's snout and, to Eragon's surprise, Saphira allowed the contact.

Senshi held her position for a few moments, then slowly moved away.

"_It is beautiful," _she breathed.

Saphira growled.

"_She," _Eragon corrected.

"_Oh." _Then,_ "She will understand if I speak to her?"_

Saphira growled louder and Eragon felt her thrust her mind against Senshi. The girl reeled and dropped to one knee. Her brother laid a protective hand on her soulder, firing anxious questions at her which she did not answer. Slowly, Saphira's creased snout relaxed and Senshi stood shakily. She bowed her head, sliently communicating with the huge dragon. Saphiras head cocked ever so slightly and she considered the girl thoughtfully before touching her snout to the girl's forehead, who smiled weakly. Spahira snorted.

She then moved on to Kitai. The boy stood stockstill as she swung her huge blue head around to face him. He did not sheathe his dagger.

Saphira appraised him critically and, giving him a condescending tap on the forehead, turned away and marched heavily down the corrider. Eragon hurried to keep up with her. Behind him, he heard Ayana talking to the duo in her soft voice.

_What was that all abou-_

_The boy is brave and skilled enough, but he lacks humility, _she cut across him._ The girl, however, is courageous as well as wise- or as wise as can be expected for one of her age. On the whole, she will make the better Rider._

_Are we going to train them, then?_

_Of course! What else did you mean to do?_

_They come from the forest._

_And you came from a farm. What of it?_

_How do we commuicate to their parents about what has happened?_

_I imagine the children will be able to do so themselves._

_The children have no idea of what a Rider is!_

_Is there not a reason the other younglings have addressed you as 'Master' for the past year?_

Eragon was doubtful, but upon further reflection, he realized that he had no other choice. They needed Riders. And besides, what else was to be done with the pair? Saphira was right.

_Of course I am. Now, go see that the hatchlings have food to eat; they are starving._

And she marched off. Eragon grimaced at her broad blue back.

He returned to the others. Only Ayana stayed behind; the other two had been in the process of restoring the last of the enslaved Eldunarí to sanity, and the task was rather urgent.

They went down to the light, airy kitchen and, after feeding the hatchlings with handfuls of meat and the twins with bread, took the them to their rooms and gave them dry clothes. Ten minutes later, the corridor reverberated with snores.

". . . so that's what happened," Eragon concluded. "Afterwards, I talked to the Eldunarí to see if they might have any ideas about how this occurred, and Valdr said he'd given them permission. When I asked him why, he only said, "Dellanir has ever been a great friend of mine." I suppose that means that Dellanir asked him to allow the twins into the Dragon Room, though how she contacted Valdr when she's been missing for the past five centuries and how she knew the children were potential Riders is more than I can fathom."

Nasuda frowned. "Dellanir. The ruler of the elves before Evandar?"

"Yes."

"And she is alive . . ." Her eyes shifted away as she mused on this new development. Eragon waited in silence, glad to have an excuse to stop talking; his throat was dry from repeating the story to Arya, Orrin, Orik, and Nar Garzhvog.

He returned to himself to hear Nasuada saying, "Never mind. That is a problem that will keep for later. You certainly haven't been bored at the Hall!"

He smiled "No, I haven't. Training the children is a surprisingly rewarding experience. And now that we're almost finished with the Eldunarí-"

A man's voice called out on Nasuadas side, his voice muffled by space, "Nasuada, are you in here?" The handle of the door in Nasudas conference room began to move.

The queen quickly called back, "I'm talking to Eragon!" The handle froze.

"Eragon, thank you for the update. I will speak to you later. At present I have some matters to attend to. Good bye, and keep well." She rose.

"But, Nasuada-"

The mirror went blank, showing only the Head Rider only his own bemused face. What was the queen hiding?

†

She turned, extending a welcoming hand. "You can come in now."

A tall, handsome man with dark hair entered. A gold circlet glittered on his brow, lending him an air of dignity. But that was forgotten as he enfolded Nasuada in a warm embrace, giving her an easy kiss. She smiled and drew back to see his face.

"Did he find out?" the man asked.

"No, but it was close."

"I still don't see why we're keeping it a secret. The whole of Alagaesia knows. He's bound to find out from someone."

"He won't. I want to surprise him. We are to accompany Arya with the next batch of eggs, are we not? He shall know then."

"That's in two years! Nasuada-"

She placed a brown finger on his lips. "Consider it a whim of mine. Did you not say once that you would die rather than leaving a wish of mine unfulfilled?"

"Iwas drunk then," he muttered, turning his head so her hand covered his stubbled cheek.

"Oh, so it no longer applies?"

His face softened. "Of course it does." He brushed the inside of her palm with his lips.

She stepped forward, and they stood with their foreheads together and arms intertwined, each supporting the other. "By the way, I have a surprise for you," she said softly. He raised an eyebrow.

She stood on tiptoe and whispered. His eyes widened in shock and he looked down at her, dumbstruck.

"You . . . you're . . . you're going to have . . . there's going to be -"

"An heir," she completed. "An heir to the throne of Alagaesia."

**(Sorry if the ending is a bit melodramatic, but I just can't end a chapter without a cliffhanger! Though this one isn't really much of a cliffhanger, it's super obvious who the man is, isn't it?)**


	6. Chapter 6: The first of the New Riders

**A/N:Warning-This chapter contains no fluff, violence, or interesting plot twists, so if you can't read something without action don't read this.**

**I warned you.**

†

Ravûn woke up slowly and comfortably, stretched, yawned, and rolled upright, nearly bumping his head on the low, rocky ceiling. Across the room, in the chamber he'd created specially for her, lay Dreya. A black eyelid drifted upward and one onyx eye focused blearily on the dwarf. Ravûn smiled and greeted her mentally. She did not reply, only blinked lazily and resumed her slumber. Ravûn understood why she felt so lethargic; today was the seventh day of the week. There would be no training today, and the students could do what they wished. They could read in the vast library, or spend time in the sprawling gardens, or ride the winds with their dragons, or even meet Eragon and talk to him about any problems or doubts they might have. In their first year, they'd spent this day listening to Eragon describe his journey and transformation from a farm boy to a hero. Not that he'd ever been conceited about it, Ravûn mused, as he pulled on a tunic and belted it. He'd simply been trying to teach them, to warn them not to make his mistakes . . .

Anyway, today they could also practise their magic or improve their skill with weapons, if they so wished; but none of them ever did. Their training schedule was so exhausting as it was that they all looked forward to the last day of the week. They were to live here for several years anyhow. Surely that was enough to learn all they needed to?

They were to have a break coming up in the next six months, when they could visit home and their families; but while Ravûn appreciated the thought, he doubted he would go home. His clan had practically exiled him, and his family hated him. He'd probably ask Eragon if he could stay at the Hall . . .

Dreya let out a small puff of smoke in her sleep as her Rider's gloomy thoughts washed over her. He hastily withdrew so she could only feel the general mood of his thoughts and tried to take his mind off of home. He thought in stead about his room. It had been kind of Eragon to allow him to shift to a new one. The old one had been horrible, large and airy with huge windows.

He snorted as he slid on his boots. It was an elf's idea of pleasant, not his. So he'd asked for, and received, permission to move to a room nearer the heart of the Hall. And with Eragon's new interior decorating scheme the Hall had, in his opinion, begun to feel more like home.

He walked through the door, being careful not to let the clicking of his boots on stone wake Dreya. He let the door swing silently shut, then debated about where to go. It was very early; no one was awake yet. He decided to go to the library, with a detour through the garden. It would take him longer, but it wasn't as though he had much else to do.

As he walked, he resumed his train of thought. A small smiled lifted his mouth as he wondered if any of the previous Riders had judged their students' work by their interior decorating skills.

Eragon had had the brilliant idea of leting them design and modify their rooms however they wanted- with magic, obviously- and then judging them on the results. Literally _however _they wanted. Këyal's room, for example, was an artistic, aesthetically pleasing forest with beautiful flowers and fruits and furniture grown from the floor of walls and an honest-to-Kílf _stream _splashing through it.

Blast Këyal.

Ravûn hadn't done too bad a job on his room, though, if he did say so himself. The walls were made of bands of different kinds of rocks with special properties; one wall was composed entirely of rocks that did not conduct heat while another was made of every possible kind and color of translucent crystal. His room was rather claustrophobic for anyone else, the ceiling being so low, but he'd been tired of staring up at ceilings that were more than ten times his height.

He'd started decorating the walls with jewels, but it was a slow process, they weren't exactly easy to come by-

His mind suddenly broke off as he heard a faint, ethereal voice singing a wistful melody that curled through the air and left him with nothing more than the desire to listen to that voice every single day till he died.

He ran, following the beautiful song through the wide passages, ending up in front of a wooden door that was slightly ajar.

Frowning, he carefully eased it open, and saw Senshi facing the window, watchng the sun rise. Her back was to him. She sang effortlessly, simply, yet enchantingly. The melody was saturated with anguish and nostalgia; Ravûn could feel tears pricking his eyelids.

He listened quietly for a time, allowing the song to wash over him, then left before she could see him.

As he closed the door, he mused on how unexpected people were, and how little he actually knew about his fellow students' lives outside the Hall. He knew that Zelíe was from Belatona, and that Osra's uncle was Nar Garzhvog, and that Këyal's brother was an ambassador between the races, and that the twins used to live in the forest. Nothing else. What if Zelíe could dance or Osra could paint? They hadn't really spent much time talking to each other, though they'd been living together for over two and a half years now. Training took up so much time . . .

Ravûn resolved to change that.

But why, he wondered as he set off down the passage, did he care so much? Did it really matter? The purpose of being here was to become the best Rider they could be, surely?

_I suppose it matters to me because . . . I like to know people, to be able to depend on them and to support them. Helzvog knows I have not had a life that allowed these things . . ._

Before he could stop it, a tide of memories rolled in; Vermûnd screaming in rage, lunging at him with a dagger; his father shouting at him with murderous fury; his mother weeping silently in a corner; his brothers acting as though he didn't exist-

_Little one . . ._

_Yes, I know I promised, Dreya. I'm sorry for waking you. Did you sleep well?_

She did not answer, only sent him a warm wave of comfort.

The pained grimace on his face eased, and he slowly continued on to the library, at one with his dragon.

†

Senshi finished the song and raised a hand to wipe her cheeks dry. Her father had taught her that song before he'd died. It had been so long . . .

_Senshi, do not. Concentrate upon the song, upon the memories you have of him. Do not do this to yourself once more._

_I . . . I will not, Ikran. Thank you. _The scars littering Senshi's bare arms seemed to grow less painful even as she looked at them, due to the reassurance the purple dragon was sending her.

She smiled and turned to him, patting his scaly snout.

He nudged her. _You sang beautifully._

_Thank you. _She hugged his neck tightly. _I don't know what I would do without you._

He snorted._ Neither do I._

The sat quietly together for nearly an hour before Ikran brought up _that _subject again.

_I still cannot understand-_

_You're in my head! You should be able to!_

_I suppose I do, in a way . . . but it still makes no sense! You are in pain, so you inflict more pain on yourself? To _distract _yourself? _

_Again, I'm sorry! It was a release, a temporary balm. A few of my friends had tried it- we all lost people close to us in the fire- and they'd said it worked, and it did, so I just kept on . . ._

_Did your brother not try to help you?_

She snorted._ Do you think _my_ brother would have _any_ idea of how to help me?_

_Why do you hate him so much?_

She rubbed her forehead wearily._ He is my brother. I don't hate him, I'm just frustrated. He's always been a very self centered person. He never takes the time to find out if other people have problems or need help. If it were pointed out to him, he might feel slightly guilty and make a halfhearted attampt to help, but that's the most he would do. And lately he's been completely obsessed with that stuck up-_

_Senshi . . ._

_Well, she is! Flipping her gold hair all over the place. I swear her head will snap off one day. But of course they're just _made_ for each other._

_You have to admit she's a good warrior, though. And she does not make excuses if something is her fault or if she makes a mistake. She is honest, and brave, and determined, and kind in her own way. I feel, as Palé does, that it is a way your brother understands. She will make of him a better person._

She sniffed._ I suppose she might. But she is certainly nowhere near that wondeful._

_You just hate her because your brother loves her-_

_He does not love her! He's never been in love in his life! Do you know how many girls-_

_-which means he's neglecting you. You're lonely._

She stopped short. Taking advantage of her sudden silence, Ikran continued,_ You never talk to the others. I've told you so many times to get to know them! Osra is rather like you, except that she isn't quite so . . .volatile._

_Volatile?!_

He hastily continued, _And Ravûn is always friendly with everyone, unlike his dragon. _Ikran's snout creased ever so slightly.

_Ravûn is not friendly with the elf._

_No, not Këyal, _he agreed._ But you have one and a half years to go before the next Riders come, and if you want to spend all that ime in a shell-_

_I'm _not _alone! I have you, don't I?_

_But I'm not enough. You need companionship from beings that walk on two legs._

Reluctant agreement trickled through to him from her.

_So today, talk to Ravûn._

_All right, all right. I will, don't worry . . . _She got up and stretched_. We should be making our way down for breakfast._

Ikran rose in one fluid motion and preceded his Rider down the corridor.

The purple dragon waited for Senshi to mount, leaped into the hollow of the Tower from the eighth storey, and gently spiraled down to the Gardens.

†

Approximately ten minutes later, everyone living at the Hall was seated around the huge table (grown from the floor of intertwined saplings) and enjoying their breakfast. Senshi munched on a slice of bread slathered with soft, faintly spicy cheese and reached for a pear as Eragon asked, "What will you all do today?"

The dusky girl was startled. "I thought you were going to continue your narration today, Era-Master?"

Everyone looked up, startled. Senshi almost never spoke at mealtimes.

Eragon was glad to see his quietest student a part of the converstaion. He gave her a warm smile, unaware of the sudden butterflies he'd set ricocheting around her stomach.

Ikran raised his head from the deer-like animal he'd been tearing at to stare fixedly at his Rider.

Palé sent him an inquiring thought. The two were practically brothers, having hatched almost simultaneously for siblings. Also, they were the only male dragons at the Hall.

Ikran replied without moving. _It's happening again._

Palé snorted softly. _You worry too much, Ikran. She is young, only five-and-ten summers old. She will grow, she will learn. Leave it._

_It is not proper to have feelings for one's teacher._

The other dragons had noticed that something was amiss by now, but feeling that if the younglings wanted to share their secret they would, they returned to their respective breakfasts.

Well, most of them.

Layla's insatiable curiosity led her to question the two.

_What is the secret, boys?_ she asked, entering into the role of wise elder sister.

Ikran hesitated, but Palé did not. He'd always been the more impulsive. He gave Layla the entire conversation.

_And besides, Layla won't say anything. She might seem like an airhead, but she certainly isn't. _Ikran ruefully remembered the countless times the ruby dragon had bested him at . . . well, everything.

Layla mused on the memory that Palé sent her for a few seconds and then, without explanation, abruptly sent them both one of her own.

Four dragons were lounging on a cliff in the evening, one much larger than the others, whose azure hue was muted by the red tinge in Layla's eyes. Saphira. She was teaching the other dragons something about how to escape downdrafts. They were black, brown, and pink – Dreya, Mánya, and Rosalie.

Ikran snorted to himself. What kind of dragon is called _Rosalie_?

He felt phantom muscles stretch as Layla yawned involuntarily.

Saphira's deep voice sounded, _Show a little respect for your teacher, Layla. This information will save your life if you are caught in a storm._

Slight shock, embarrassment, chagrin. _I apologize, Mistress. It will never, ever, ever happen again-_

Saphira now sounded slightly amused. _There is no need to be quite so apologetic. We all make mistakes. That is a lesson, younglings; no one is infallible. We can always better ourselves, all of us, whether we teach or learn._

_Including you, Mistress? _Startlement. Rosalie was certainly in a reckless mood.

But Saphira merely chuckled. _Certainly including me. I have shown my master far more disrespect than Layla just showed me._

Immediately, they all clamoured for the memory until she grudgingly gave it to them.

_I trust your discretion, _she warned them. _Do not share this unless you have to._

But they barely heard her, so immersed were they in the memory-

-which the two male dragons saw as well.

_Mistress Saphira tried to mate with . . . Gleadr-elda?! _If Palé were human, his jaw would have hit the ground.

Ikran wasn't quite so incredulous. The emotions Mistress had been experiencing were understandable, though he did think she would have had more control over herself . . .

Layla spoke. _So you see, Ikran, everyone has foolish periods in their lives, and they always learn from them. Do not worry overmuch about Senshi. She will also learn._

Ikran dipped his head. _Thank you, Layla._

_For trusting me with that memory, and caring enough to help me._

"I was going to continue my narration, but the older students have already heard it before, I have a strong feeling that your brother is most definitely not interested," Eragon said, darting a glance down the table, where Kitai was only aware of the (now tanned) golden-haired girl next to him.

"If you don't want to . . ." Senshi was disappointed. "Only it was at the most interesting part."

At this, Eragon laughed out loud. "Senshi, you think all of the parts are the most interesting."

"Well, they are!" Senshi felt a curious sense of satisfaction at having made him laugh.

Anyway, she was geniunely interested. There hadn't been much time for stories, back at the village. There was only time to wonder where your next meal would come from.

It had been a hard life with a hard family, and she'd been glad to leave. That was why she'd jumped at Queen Dellanir's offer. She'd been tired of fighting so hard all the time. She was not an animal; she could think, she could dream, and she could imagine, but she had not been free to do so at home.

No, that was no longer home. The Hall was her home now, and Ikran, her brother, and . . . Eragon . . . constituted her family. And possibly Ravûn, if Ikran's plan worked out.

Eragon was still grinning that delighted grin at her. "Very well, I will continue. If anyone else wishes to listen, they are welcome."

She focused back on her food, heart thumping for some obscure reason. Even Këyal suddenly deciding to smirk at her in an extremely unpleasant fashion could not dampen her spirits.

†

Osra and Zelíe were walking together, carrying piles of clothes. Lamaraé was far too soft for everyday use, and not many other materials could withstand the rough usage. So the elves had come up with a new one. Osra let her fingers wander over it; it was slightly rough, but firm and strong. It could also be made as tight or as loose as necessary; a blessing for one with her bulk. She was almost completely sure she was a Kull, now; she'd shot up by about a foot in the past month . . .

"Osra?"

"Yes?" Why was Zelíe so tentative?

"Did you . . . uh . . . notice anything strange about Senshi today? About how she was behaving?"

Osra frowned slightly. That child barely ever spoke in any case. What had been special today?

Then she remembered. When Senshi had been talking to Master, she had actually kind of . . . glowed. Yes, that was it. She'd been glowing with happiness.

Not that Osra did not wish her happiness, but Senshi had to realize that it would only end in sorrow.

"Yes, I did. You're talking about how she behaved around Master?"

"Yes, I am. Do you think we should talk to her about it?"

Osra raised her eyebrows, marveling at how humans could be so bad at understanding each other. "Most certainly not. We do not know her, we do not talk to her, and therefore we have no right. Moreover, she would be mortified."

"But what do we do? It can never happen, and it is wrong to have feelings for one's teacher. She has to understand-"

Osra cut her off as thought flashed across her mind."Oh, she will; in about one and a half years."

Zelíe frowned. "What are you- Oh! Queen Arya!"

The Urgal nodded ponderously.

"But we cannot let this continue for eighteen months!"

Osra shrugged. "Why not? Either she will make such a fool of herself that we will be forced to intervene or she will come to her senses."

"Couldn't we intervene right now?"

"It would be impertinent and it is unneeded." And Zelíe knew better than to persist. Osra could be immovable when she wanted.

She still wanted to discuss it, though. As she turned the problem over in her mind, she slowly said, "I learnt from Kitai that about six years ago there was a forest fire." Encountering an impassive look from Osra, she hurriedly explained, "It was an extrememly damaging one. Nearly a quarter of the forest burnt down-" Osra's eyes widened. The forest was huge. "-and their village was destroyed. Half the population was just wiped out . . . including his father." The hard blue eyes were still impassive. Zelíe was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable. She had never met anyone quite like this Urgal (almost) princess.

"Apparently his – their- mother carries out the duties of the healer of the village. She knows some magic and makes up for the rest with chants and rituals. She . . . was not exactly the best parent."

Still impassive.

"They have not had easy lives," Zelíe said quietly. Osra could see that she had been shaken by the trials the twins had faced. _Most likely she has not been used to think much about what other people go through, having been used to commanding the luxuries of life._

". . . and perhaps Senshi is so desperate for comfort she has turned to Master? He was the first person who showed her kindness- apart from Kitai, of course."

Zelíe missed the slight flicker of amusement in the hard blue eyes.

"The cause is immaterial if the effect is the same. Our course of action has not changed," Osra said. She was not really affected by the story. People live, people die. One got used to it in a society that focused on fighting. If one was as sensitive as some humans, one would not even make it through a year.

Zelíe shrugged and headed towards her room. She didn't know why she had confided in Osra, anyway.

She sighed and fervently hoped that the next set of Riders would include a human girl.

**A/N: Yayyyy! I updated!**

**I'm so so so so so sooo sorry I didn't get another chapter up for such a long time, I had exams. Anyway, I've got my holidays now, so I'm hpoing I can finish another chapter before schools starts again. **

**Some of you might be wondering why Senshi Doesn't call Eragon 'master'. It isn't accidental. Can you guess why?**

**Oh, and where I got the twins' names from? **

**And why was the elf smirking at Senshi? (obvious, but if you somehow missed it . . .)**

**What else . . . oh, yeah, just to be clear, the Hall is situated half a day south of Aroughs and five days east of the Az Ragni (on dragonback). It's basically a huge cylinder(the Tower, like twelve stories tall) with the entrance hall projecting out in front. Two straight bits stick out on the sides in a straight line, so its kinda like the upright bar of an F. The entrance Hall faces towards Alagaësia, so the wings are the North and South wings. Hope that clarifies everything . . .**

**Was this chapter okay? I feel like some parts of it were just too . . . abrupt. If they were, tell me!**

**Also, why do people disclaim? There is a reason this site is called Fanfiction, right?**

**But anyway, the awesome Chris Paolini owns everything and everyone in this story except for those younger than Eragon or those unmentioned in his books.**

**As always, pleeeaase review! Love ya!**


	7. Chapter 7: Surprises (Four of them!)

**A/N: Phew. Finally.**

**Please review this time, guys; you keep me going. I almost gave up on this fic a couple of times.**

Standing in front of the huge front doors of the Hall, Eragon shaded his eyes and squinted at the sun. They would be here any minute now . . .

Behind him, his students shuffled and muttered as they tried to peel their clothes off of their sweaty bodies. They'd been standing out in the afternoon sun for the past half an hour, waiting for the next batch of Riders.

Eragon ignored their restlessness. Life wasn't always comfortable. Besides, if the heat was affecting them too adversely, they could always alleviate their discomfort with magic. He shot another glare at the hard blue sky, then glanced at the parchment in his hand for the hundreth time-

_. . .we should arrive nine days after this reaches you, in all likelihood at the third hour after noon. The next four Riders are quite as well balanced as the last batch; a human, an Urgal, a dwarf, and . . . I suspect she is part elf, thoughshe refuses to explain her parentage._

_Also, this time, two male dragons have hatched, from the green and the blue eggs. The other two are female, silver and white. You remember I chose the eggs that day, yes?_

_The last to hatch was the young human's dragon. I told you, did I not, of the large island that has been discovered far to the West? And that trade is flourishing between our communities? The human is one of their ilk. We were very lucky to have found him, for he was to have returned to his own country in two weeks. It was surprising, but suitable Riders may be found anywhere, I suppose . . .His name is Caspian. __and he is but__ But I will let you see the rest for yourself._

_Wishing you good fortune,_

_Arya_

Eragon tapped his foot impatiently as he scowled at the sky. It was half an hour past the time! Where were they?

_Calm down, Eragon._

He did not reply. Saphira knew perfectly well why he was so restless. She was feeling much the same at being about to see Fírnen, and yet she managed to keep herself under better control than he kept himself, which annoyed him even further.

Just as he looked down to clear the dark spots from his eyes, Kitai said sharply, "Master!"

Eragon's head whipped up. Tiny multicolored glints of light sparkled on the horizon, approaching fast.

He clenched his fists, crushing the letter, and took deep breaths to slow his racing heart. They would arrive when they would, and he could not hasten them.

But he still would not tear his eyes away, even when they began to water painfully.

A frown slowly descended on his brow as he watched the approaching dragons. White, silver, green, blue, another, larger green -Fírnen- and . . . red? No red egg had been taken, the only red egg to hatch had been Layla's-

And then it struck him. Thorn! The dragon must be Thorn!

Murtagh was coming!

Saphira uttered a soft roar of elation. It was now far harder to restrain himself from leaping onto her and flying to meet them, to meet both his brother and his love.

Another tense fifteen minutes, and the dragons were close enough that the gusts of wind whipped up by their wings tousled Eragon's hair.

He stepped back involuntarily as they landed with heavy _THUD_s, one after the other -although he noticed that Thorn seemed to take far more care than was usual while landing- his eyes immediately snapping to his brother.

Murtagh was looking . . . well. Better than Eragon had ever seen him before. Physically he had not changed- his hair was the same, long and thick, he still had the rough startings of dark brown stubble on his cheeks, his eyes were the same fierce gray, he was still tanned, still muscular, still handsome –but his entire bearing was different. He didn't look as angry, as wary as he had used to. In fact, on someone else, Eragon would have called the same expression content.

_Does he wear . . . a crown?_ Saphira was surprised. _Did Nasuada make him an earl or some such?_

He looked closer, and saw that Murtagh was indeed wearing a crown, a delicate circlet of silver set with rubies. Eragon slightly raised an eyebrow. Murtagh had some explaining to do . . .

At present, he was grinning widely. When he saw that he'd caught Eragon's eye, he raised Zar'roc in salute. Eragon returned it with Brisingr, his grin just as wide.

Finally, he turned his eyes to the elf on the back of a huge green dragon, his heart full of anticipation and longing.

There she was.

As perfect as ever.

She was gazing at him steadily, eyes alight with – joy? Excitement? He couldn't tell.

She slid down from Fírnen gracefully and slowly walked up to him, with all the dignity befitting a queen. As she approached, Eragon started to feel slightly nervous. Was she still uncomfortable about with relationship? What did she expect him to do?

She stopped short just in front of him, head slightly cocked, scrutinizing him comprehensively with those dark green eyes.

Now thoroughly apprehensive, he started to blurt out, "Atra es-"

Arya took a step forwards and wrapped her arms tightly around his midriff, so quickly that Eragon just barely saw a blur. Gaping, he looked down at the dark head tucked underneath his own.

She looked up and gave him an ever-so-light kiss. "_I've missed you."_

Before he could answer, she moved away just as swiftly, and walked calmly away to stand by Fírnen once more.

_Eragon! Close your mouth and attend to your duties! You are the Head Rider!_

He tried to clear his mind, his task not made easier by Arya smirking at him, eyes sparkling with amusement. _Of course, you're right-_

A delighted laugh, hastily cut short, reached his ears. He frowned slightly. It had not been one of his students, or Arya, of that he was sure. Who had it been, then?

He looked back over at Thorn. Murtagh was now biting his lip to keep himself from laughing-

-and there was someone behind him!

Correctly interpreting Eragon's startled expression, Murtagh smiled and jumped down from Thorn, allowing Eragon to see the face of the woman sitting there.

His shock, combined with Saphira's, overwhelmed him, and his mouth dropped open for the second time in as many minutes.

Murtagh offered his hand to her to help her dismount, saying, "Eragon, I'd like you to meet-"

She jumped down too quickly, her red silk dress rustling, and Murtagh quickly grabbed her other hand, steadying her. He smiled down at her and pressed the hands clasped in his own lightly.

"-my wife, Queen Nasuada."

"Your _wife_?!" Eragon could barely squeak. He had known that the both of them had had feelings for each other, but _marriage_?

Nasuada laughed, holding out her hands to Eragon. Still in a daze he took them, and she pulled him into a warm hug.

She moved back slightly, beaming up at him. "Hello, Eragon. You've changed; you're taller than me, now!"

Two laughs sounded together; his and the elven queen's. Nasuada's comment had reminded his irresistably of Arya three years ago, saying the exact same thing.

"Arya said that as well three years ago," he grinned at the dark queen. "This is certainly a surprise!"

Spahira said dryly, broadcasting for everyone to hear, _That is a massive understatement._

Nasuada turned to her, still beaming. "How are you, Saphira?"

_Well enough, Nasuada. _The azure dragon lowered her snout to touch Nasuada's forehead. _It is good to see you once again._

"Now _that_ is a massive understatement," Eragon said. "It's wonderful to see you! But the kingdom . . .?"

"All is well in Alagäesia. The riots calmed down two years ago, trade flourishes, and we are most prosperous. The economy steadily rises, and my subjects live in more peace than ever before."

"That is good . . . How did they react to . . .?" Eragon gestured to Murtagh.

"My descision was met with resounding approval. As you know, we have established trade with a new country. One of their citizens is, in fact, a Rider." She indicated a tall young man with raven locks, honey-brown eyes and an olive complexion, standing by a young green dragon, "At first people were inclined to distrust them, but the tide of gold that came pouring in due to trade was enough to dispell any prejudices. Now, the foreigners are accepted; and it was Murtagh who discovered their country. Also, he played a major part in controlling the rebellions. He now helps keep the peace."

"So he is . . . a king now?"

"Indeed."

Murtagh had been listening appreciatively, but he now interrupted, "Thorn is growing impatient."

Nasauda's eyes lit up. "Of course! Please do so, Thorn."

_Please do what?_

Thorn stretched his long, red neck and twisted it around until his snout was almost touching his saddle. As he nosed amongst the various bags and cases strapped there, Murtagh said, "We'd wanted to do this ourselves, but we felt that Thorn also deserved to have the pleasure of surprising you."

Eragon made a wry face at him.

Thorn finally found what he was looking for. As he brought his head back forward, Eragon saw that he held a sack made of thick, soft wool very carefully between his teeth. It was colorfully patterned and big enough to hold a small child.

Thorn gently laid it on the flagstones and tugged on the drawstring, opening it. His mind-voice reverberated with amusement, _Try to keep your mouth closed this time, Argetlam._

_I will try. What is it? _Eragon curiously peered into the bag.

A small, dark head peeked out.

_Is it now a habit with you to keep opening your mouth? So they have a daughter. Does it surprise you overmuch?_

_Yes, it does! Murtagh, a father?!_

The girl was as dark as her mother but had Murtagh's iron-grey eyes. Her hair was of a soft tint between brown and black, and she wore a loose, comfortable green frock. She looked to be about two or three years old.

She scrambled to her feet and stumbled towards Eragon, eyes glowing with excitement. "Eh-a-guhn!" she shouted.

Feeling as though he was dreaming, he picked her up and balanced her on one hip, ducking as she attempted to grab his hair.

_I told you you should have cut it._

_Is this really the time, Saphira?_

"How does she know me?"

"We've told her about you quite often, and Murtagh impressed an image of you on her mind when she wanted to know what you looked like."

Eragon waved his fingertip around the child's face, and she tried to catch it, giggling softly. He smiled involuntarily as he lightly tapped her nose.

"Her name is Selena."

Eragon's head whipped up to stare at Murtagh. He forgot to keep his finger moving and Selena caught it triumphantly.

"Selena," he repeated softly.

Murtagh nodded unemotionally. Eragon continued to gaze at him, hot brown eyes meeting cool grey ones, until something gave way, almost imperceptibly, in the latter. The brown eyes softened, and Eragon turned his attention back to the girl, softly cooing at her.

†

Caspian's curious gaze was riveted on the sight of the saviour of Alagaësia playing with a toddler. He didn't look half as scary or strict as the others had speculated he would be; he looked . . . kind? Brave? No . . . quietly confident. Yes, that fit much better. Quietly confident. Someone courteous and compassionate, but who would stand for no nonsense.

He let his eyes rove over the others standing in around him. King Murtagh and Queen Nasuada looked ecstatic as they watched their daughter, as did Queen Arya. Next to him, Dara looked amused at the look of bewilderment on Akhtar's face. Caspian supposed that the Urgal had expected Firesword, as he called Eragon, to be more . . . manly.

The dwarf, Sorya, looked slightly nauseated, but mostly angry. She was always angry. It showed in the tenseness of her body and the curtness of her words. Caspian would have liked to help, but she was always inside a shell . . .

. . . like that dark girl across from him. Senshi.

He'd seen her face when Queen Arya had kissed Eragon; it had had anguish written all over it. Now she was impassive, not even looking at her teacher, staring off into the distance.

But her posture, her stance, and most of all, her eyes gave her away. She looked tired, despairing, depressed; as though life had beaten her down so many times that she now believed that happiness was simply not meant for her. He bit his lip and looked away. He could not help her. The way she stood- apart -betrayed that she was really close to none other than her dragon. He could not help her, and dwelling on her would not serve any purpose except to upset him.

Instead, he looked to the elves and his fellow students. The elves were all similar, all with slanting eyes and lithe bodies. The only difference between then were the colors of their clothes, hair, and their features. They all were watching Selena, joyful expressions on their face.

The new Riders . . . a female Urgal, she must be Osra. A pleased dwarf with pleasant eyes; Ravûn. A dark haired elf who looked faintly disgusted; Këyal. A dark boy with the same golden eyes as Senshi; her brother, Kitai.

He glanced at the last one, a girl-

-and could not tear his eyes away.

She was gorgeous. Startling violet eyes, beautiful gold curls, a slim silhouette, lips like rosebuds, a heart-shaped face, perfectly tanned skin . . . Caspian had never seen anyone like her in his life. He could not tear his gaze away from her. After a few minutes it seemed that she felt his gaze on her, for she looked at him inquiringly. He could not move; he could not even smile, though he remembered her name; Zelíe. The prettiest name he'd ever known. She raised a playful eyebrow and beamed dazzlingly at him.

He had no idea what he would have done if two elves had not come towards them from the Hall at that moment. One was certainly Blödhgarm, while the other was a female with silver hair. Yaela, perhaps?

She started, "I apologize for our tardiness, Queen Nasuada and Arya Dröttning. We were-"

She caught sight of Dara and stopped dead.

The sight of an elf dumbstruck was novel enough to wrench Caspian's eyes away from Zelíe. He turned to look at the brunette on his left, wondering what the matter was. Certainly she was striking; not because she was any beauty, but because of her features and her rather inhuman grace. Her eyes were a plain brown, but they slanted upwards at the corners ever so slightly while her were features were faintly reminiscent of a cats'. When she walked she seemed to glide over the floor, and her laugh was one of the most ethereal sounds Caspian had ever heard. But her most arresting feature was her hair. Its light brown was uplifted by the silvery sheen that seemed to coat every strand. When she moved, it shimmered in the sfternoon sun; much like her dragon. Caspian knew that Lady Arya suspected she was not fully human, and judging by the look on Lady Yaela's face, she thought so as well.

Yaela snapped out of her shock and strode towards Dara, roughly demanding, "What is your name?"

Caspian caught sight of King Murtagh's raised eyebrows. He felt the same; were the elves not famed for their courtesy?

Dara seemed rigid with conflicting emotions, yet another surprising occurrence. Dara was usually cheerful and carefree.

She answered in a low voice. "Dara Tristansdaughter."

"Where are you from?" Yaela snapped.

"Lighthaven, a town north of Ceunon."

"What was your mother's name?"

Caspian noted the past tense. Dara stiffened even more and did not reply.

Silver tresses flying, Yaela lunged forward and grabbed Dara's upper arm in a painful grip..

"Answer me, child!What was her name?" The elf seemed almost desperate now.

"I don't know. She died when I was born."

"You lie! Your father must have told you!" Yaela tightened her grip, her fingers digging into Dara's arms. Dara winced.

"I don't know."

"_Tell me!" _Everyone flinched at the near-shriek. Even Selena was staring, open-mouthed.

"Her name was Natiri!" Dara spat. "Now will you get _off_ me?"

Yaela did so, stumbling back. "Natiri . . . So it is true . . ."

Dara narrowed her eyes. "And what is your name?"

Dazed, the elf murmured, "Yaela."

The brunette's eyes widened. She stood irresolute, warring within herself for ten long seconds, before stepping forward with a bitter grimace and kneeling.

Her words were saturated with hate. "Then I must beg your blessing . . . grandmother."

†

_Well, that was interesting._

Everyone was sitting in the dining room, eating and talking while Eragon watched Dara carefully. She only answered the occasional comment sent her way by Akhtar or Caspian with the briefest of smiles, and then returned her eyes to her food.

Arya, who was sitting next to him, gave him a slight nudge. He had been staring too long. He gave her an apologetic grin and looked over at his other new students, trying to seize them up.

Caspian seemed to be a kind boy. Eragon noted his frequent attempts to get Sorya and Senshi to participate in the conversation, and how he seemed completely willing to comply with any requests. His accent was especially pleasing to the ear; a smooth, liquid voice that reminded Eragon of lazy honey oozing from the jar.

He also noted how frequently he glanced over at Zelíe and smiled to himself. It seemed that Kitai had competition.

Akhtar was older than Osra, old enough for it to be evident that he was not a Kull. Nevertheless, he was tall and very powerfully built. His blue dragon, Jethran, was far larger and heavier than usual to accommodate his Rider.

On the other hand, Corinne, Sorya's white dragon, was small and agile, while Sorya herself . . . Eragon knew not what to conclude about her. While Akhtar and Caspian had exclaimed at the wonders of the Hall, she had been sullen and silent. At present she was staring at her plate, stabbing her food like it had personally offended her. She had thick, fiery red hair that flowed in gentle waves almost to her knees. Her complexion was creamy, and her face regular. Her most arresting features were her large, expressive eyes. They were a vivid, sparkling green, like bright leaves under chipped ice, currently smoldering with fury.

Eragon frowned faintly. He would have to discover the cause of that anger before it disturbed the harmony at the Hall.

Not that the Hall had been very harmonious of late . . .

He gave an involuntary grimace as he remembered last week, and the shouting match that had taken place between Këyal and Zelíe. What was the matter with that elf? He even treated Eragon with a sort of faint, sneering condescension, as though . . . as though . . .

_Oh. _

He spoke in a soft undertone, "Arya, can you tell me anything about Këyal's family?"

A faint shadow of surprise crossed her face, but she readily replied, "Why, of ocurse. He lived in Sílthrim with his parents. His brother is Vanir, as you know. He also had an elder brother and sister who perished in the Fall, killed by one of the Forsworn. "

"Do you remember which one?"

She frowned in an effort of memory. "I think it was . . . Formora. Yes, Formora. But why this sudden interest in Këyal?"

"I've just realised why he seems so disgusted by all of us."

"Have you indeed?" She laid down her cutlery and turned to him, lips curving. "Do tell."

"It can only be because he considers elves the only race worthy of being Riders and humans weak, fickle beings; witness Galbatorix and Formora. Allowing dwarves and Urgals to become Riders as well can only add insult to injury."

"You're quite right; I'm surprised it took you so long to realize it." She smiled at his half annoyed-half amused expression. "Speaking of elves who considered that humans make weak Riders, have you managed to find out anything else about Queen Dellanir?"

"Only a little. From what I have gathered from the twins, after her abdication, she wandered the lands, ending up in this forest, where she taught magic to the inhabitants. I do not know why she chose to do so, but she has since been a half-legendary protectress who is rarely seen. That she chose the twins to become Riders was considered a very high honour. Of course, they did not know they were to be bonded to dragons; she simply told them how to break into the Hall and described the eggs they were to touch."

"Interesting. I will think on this further. I would very much like to meet her . . ."

Eragon looked up, started, and quickly finished his food. Yaela was just leaving, and he remembered that he had yet to ask her about that scene earlier.

Hee hastily got up, then stopped, irresolute. He leaned towards Arya and whispered, "Will you meet me in our room?"

She nodded, amused by his curiosity about Yaela. "Tell me what she says."

He smiled at her - she knew him so well – before hurrying to catch up with the older elf.

He reached her, panting slightly. She turned, face smooth and expressionless.

"Yes, Shadeslayer?"

"Yaela-elda, if you do not mind, would you please tell-"

"You wish me to explain my connection with Dara."

"Er, yes, elda."

"There is nothing to explain. My daughter was a wayward, feckless creature who attempted every half-baked notion that entered her head. She decided that she wished to live with humans, and so she changed her appearance and eventually _married_-" her mouth twisted, "- one of them. I suppose humans were more interesting to her than her own family. She died while giving birth to her daughter; that is, Dara. Now if you don't mind, I have business elsewhere." She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Eragon stared after her and shook his head. His brain was tired of puzzles and surprises. All he wanted to do now was relax, preferably with Arya.

His troubled face lightened, and he quickly headed to the sixth floor.

Eragon slowly pushed the door open. Arya was curled up on the couch, staring abstractedly at the flickering candle.

"Still thinking about the Queen?"

She started slightly, then gave him a welcoming smile. "Eragon."

He smiled as well, closing the door behind him, and quickly eased himself onto the couch. He held out his arms, and she readily nestled into them. Resting his head on hers, with her warm weight pressing down on his chest, he felt the slight, constant irritation of the past three years fade away. This was where he belonged; she was as much a part of him as was Saphira.

He closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation. Slowly, they opened their minds to each other, only rarely using words. They shared their doings of their years spent apart; emotions, memories, and musings.

Eragon was surprised by how acutely she'd felt his loss.

She pulled away slightly, piqued. _Did you think I would not miss you? Is that how you estimate the depth of my affection for you?_

He nuzzled the side of her neck, gratefully breathing in the fresh scent of crushed pine needles. _Of course I'd hoped you would miss me, but I did not think you would miss me quite so much. You are very hard to read, love. I only know how you feel when you choose to let me know._

Satisfied, she rested against him once more. _Well, I've had quite a bit of practice with that . . ._

_I know. _Unbidden, an image of her body streaked with bruises and lacerations flashed across his mind. He growled softly at the hateful memory and clutched her tighter. That would never happen again if he had any say in it.

Arya's levity lightened his mood. _Why, it seems I have a champion to defend me._

_As always, princess._

_You mean Queen._

_Mmmm, no . . . I rather think you'll always remain a princess to me- tiara notwithstanding._

†

Dara stretched drowsily, feeling the last of her annoyance washed away by the calming ambience and comfortable bed she was presently lying on.

She was in Zelíe's room, having cozy chat about the bastard that Këyal was.

"I just met him and he snorted, 'Oh, a human,' and walked off! If he's an example of the rest of his race I hope never to meet an elf again in my life!" the beauty fumed.

"He didn't even say anything to me; he just looked at me like he preferred dirt and then ignored me. How have you managed to tolerate him for three entire years?"

"Oh, we usually ignore him, and thankfully he keeps to himself. He even behaves rudely to Master, can you believe that?"

"To Master Eragon? And he gets away with that?"

"He doesn't insult him outright, but he sometimes drops these thinly-veiled hints. I don't know how Master manages to keep his temper, I really don't." She smacked a hand into a plush pillow as hard as she could (which was extremely hard) .

Dara closed her eyes and mumbled sleepily, "I suppose after having gone to war he finds such things rather trivial. He would have received more than his fair share of discrimination after the Agaetí Blödhren as well from humans, for his appearance. You know, because of mixed blood."

"Speaking of mixed blood . . ." Zelíe hesitated.

Dara sighed, eyes still closed. There was no point in trying to hide her parentage now. "Yaela's daughter is my mother. I am part elf."

"Oh. Well, anyway, it will be nice to have some more company. Osra is so calm and sensible; nothing ever seems to excite her! Senshi keeps to herself even more than that elf . . . Ravûn is nice, though. I am sure you will like him."

"I'm sure I will too . . ." she was almost asleep.

"Kitai - "Zelíe blushed faintly and started anew. "Can you tell me anything about the others?"

"Hmmm? Oh, of course . . . Akhtar is perhaps a little more excitable than Osra seems to be. When he laughs it vibrates through your entire body. He's not a Kull, though . . . Caspian is quite charming; from the foreign isles, of course, but none the worse for that. He cares a lot about other people, and sometimes forgets to care for himself in the process. A good listener and one you can confide in. I don't know much about Sorya, though. She doesn't seem to want to be a Rider, and she never talks . . ." Dara gave a huge yawn. "Can I go to sleep now? I'm so tired . . ." Another thirty seconds, and the girl was fast asleep.

Zelíe chuckled and lay down next to her. The plush bed certainly big enough for two, if not three. She loved being able to design her own room.

"_Darken_," she whispered, and the Erisdar tastefully hung on the walls gradually dimmed to a comfortable twilight.

Erisdar throughout the Hall slowly did the same as night fell and the young Riders drifted to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8: Poison

**A/N: I SWEAR I will never take this long on a chapter again. I'm so sorry!**

Eragon yelled in exhilaration as Saphira swept into a heart-stopping dive, the stinging wind bringing tears into his eyes. He felt the strain in her wings and the thump of her huge heart as she pulled up slowly and flapped hard - high, higher, so high that crystals of ice formed on her scales.

He coughed and rubbed his face as the stinging cold bit into it. _Saphira, a bit lower, please. _

She snorted with impatience, but complied. _You could have just cast a spell to keep yourself warm._

_I need to conserve all my energy. _He grinned widely as Saphira's exasperation reached him.

_She is barely three years old. It's not all that hard to take care of her._

_Of course it is. You have scales – you are protected from her vicious assaults._

She chuckled low in her throat, a deep, guttural sound that caused a startled eagle to sheer away. _Vicious assaults, indeed. _Eragon saw her memories of yesterday –

_She stretched luxuriously and twisted, exposing more of her body to the bone-warming-bright-sun. She loved the days of rest – it was tiring showing the young ones the same dives, swoops and turns every day. She gave a loud sigh as she settled her huge head on the cool stones of the Dragon Circle in the garden and closed her eyes, breath whooshing out of her belly. This was her private retreat. None would dare disturb her here-_

_A delighted squeal pierced the air as the small-dark-happy-princess Selena stumbled into her Circle, the partner-of-her-heart-and-mind in playful pursuit. When Selena saw her, she did not stop in awe and admiration as did the rest of the two-legs. She squealed at an even higher pitch and wrapped her tiny arms around as much of Saphira's head as she could, while Eragon laughed till he cried, the deep cadence of his amusement echoing off the walls of the Tower. Saphira fixed him with one glittering eye._

Little one, catch him, _she said, nudging the child away. Selena clapped in delight at this new game and fixed her intent gaze on Eragon._

_He stopped laughing abruptly and backed away. _"_Selena, you don't want to catch me. Don't- _" _he turned and ran as Selena, a clarion yell ringing from her tiny mouth, leaped forward, legs pumping furiously._

_He didn't move fast enough._

_She tackled his stomach, caused him to trip and fall, and pounded on his chest triumphantly as he lay gasping on the cobbles. _"_Saphi-ah, I caught 'im!"_ _she yelled happily._

_Saphira felt the laughter bubbling up. She let her amusement roll over the girl like a wave, who grinned toothlessly in response._

Well done. Now, little one . . . kindly tickle him.

"_No!" Eragon's desperate scream was of no avail. Saphira's trainee in the art of torture had no mercy._

Eragon laughed out loud. _I never knew children could be so much fun._

_Indeed. It should make the Hall interesting when you have younglings of your own._

His grin vanished and she felt heat surge into his ears. _Saphira . . ._

She deftly changed the subject even as he felt her smile at his embarrassment. _Sorya seems to be getting better, yes?_

_Actually, I don't think so. Better at controlling her anger, perhaps, but happier at being a Rider- I don't think so. It is as though she has hammered her rage into a shield. Does Corinne give no help?_

_Of course not. Which dragon would give the personal details of their Rider to another dragon? They would only do so if they felt they did not know how to help said Rider, and since Corinne has not confided in anyone else, she must feel that she is capable enough to help Sorya._

_Hmmm. I only hope she is not overestimating her abilities. She is, after all, the youngest-_

_Young she might be, but she is more mature than you were when I hatched for you._

_That's rather harsh, Saphira._

_Eragon, it seems your intellect is dulling. You know even a dragon of six months is more ancient in her thoughts than most men of five-and-fifty. You also know no one knows Sorya better than her dragon; consequently Corinne is in a far better position to judge the state of Sorya's mind and her own capabilities than you are. How can you not see this?_

He sighed. _I do not know. You're right – my intellect must be dulling. _

She calmed down, her indignation fading slowly. _Your concern is understandable. My view is simply that there must be concerns at Tarnag that still prey on her mind, perhaps family or clan problems. Once those are removed she will put her soul into her studies, for she is . . . a proud child. Imperious, capable of wielding power. And there are none more powerful than a Rider._

_I think – _Eragon frowned as a faint buzzing reached his ears. He looked all around, but the sky was clear.

Saphira turned her head like him, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

It was Eragon who finally located it. _There._

A black arrow was speeding upwards towards them. It was painted with streamers of glowing orange that writhed across the shaft, reminding Saphira of the flames of the firey-smoky-Burning-Plains.

It was still some distance off, but was swiftly closing the distance.

"Letta," Eragon said lazily.

The arrow did not budge from its course. It was now only forty feet away.

His dark brows angled downwards as he frowned. "Letta!" he snapped

Twenty feet.

"Letta!" Urged by his anxiety, Saphira dove into a steep dive, trying to evade the missile. But it pursued them, cementing her belief that it was guided by magic.

Ten feet. Five feet-

"Thrysta vin-"

He was cut off as the tip of the short arrow sank into his neck. He slumped forward on her neck with a gurgle.

Saphira roared with pain as she felt the bright light of his mind vanish. A cloud of startled birds rose from the forest and swirled around her as she whipped around and forced her tired muscles to propel them to the Hall, hoping desperately that she wouldn't be too late.

†

Senshi blinked as Saphira dropped past her through the Tower like a stone, flaring her huge wings just enough to slow her fall.

The dragon landed with a huge, jarring thud, casting out her mind as she did so.

Arya arrived at a sprint within thirty seconds. The elf lightly leapt to the saddle with inhuman grace, countenance marred by worry. She quickly lifted the unconscious Head Rider and clambered down.

Senshi's heart skipped a beat when she saw her teachers head lolling on his neck like that of a puppet whose strings had been severed. What could have happened to him? He was one of the most powerful magicians in the land, what-

The arrow clattered to the floor as Saphira rose to follow Arya down the corridor.

Senshi had an odd sensation of the world spinning around her.

_Senshi, are you all right?_ Ikran asked anxiously. She didn't answer him as she shakily picked the arrow up. She knew that pattern. She knew who had shot the arrow. She knew who had tried to kill Eragon.

And the realization forged her shock and worry and fear into sparkling, diamond-hard fury.

How _dare _they? A group of lily-livered, illiterate _bullies_ who feared what they could not comprehend and used their magic to harm the weak- how_ dare_ they even try to harm her wonderful teacher?

She felt the anger surge through her dragon as he saw the answer in her mind.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. She was the only one who could help – but she had to check how far gone he was first.

_I'll be waiting at the front doors. Be fast._

_I will._

She sprinted after Saphira, arrow still clutched in one hand, in time to see Arya's distant figure duck into the sickroom. She ducked under Saphira's sparkling blue belly and ran after her.

_Senshi, what are you doing? _Saphira's anger was sharpened by her worry.

Senshi did not pause. Every second wasted brought Eragon closer to death. _I know how to save him, Mistress._

She did not even acknowledge Saphira's flicker of hope as she dashed through door, where Arya had just laid Eragon down on a cot and was about to start a spell.

"No!" she gasped.

Arya's eyes snapped open, and Senshi recoiled involuntarily. The queen's eyes burned with desperation and fear. "He's dying, child!"

"Trust me . . . magic will only . . . make it worse," she panted.

"But-"

Eragon moaned suddenly, flinging his arm so it narrowly missed a glass beaker. Arya hurried to restrain him, but he quickly grew more agitated, tossing and turning, screaming unintelligible words. A yellow froth formed at his mouth.

Fear threatened to overwhelm her. They must have used a stronger concentration – she had never seen anyone succumb this fast.

She spoke tersely. "_Queen, believe me, I know how this happened, and I can cure it – but I need time . You can use magic to alleviate his pain, but do not try to discover or remove the cause. I will be back as soon as possible."_

She whipped out of the room, now sprinting to the Doors, eyes blurring with angry tears.

Which was possibly why she ran smack into her brother.

He clutched at her to keep from falling and the two swayed, struggling for balance. Senshi fought down her rising tide of anger at being slowed down, but the dam burst when she saw Zelíe leaning against the wall, hair and clothes disheveled, expression teetering between amusement, annoyance, and embarrassment.

"**Come**," she growled in their native tongue, dragging him along with an iron grip.

"Senshi, **stop! Let go!**" She did not loosen her grip by a fraction.

"**I was in the middle of something, you know. What is so impor-**"

"Vilta!" she snapped.

The blood drained from his face. Vilta . The incurable disease.

"**Who is it?**" he demanded, now easily keeping pace with her. She was glad to let go. He was strong.

"Eragon**.**"

He drew in his breath sharply. "**How can I help**?"

"**How many do you know**?"

"Vailè, haldin, kenäd, and elrun." Better than she had hoped for – vailè and kenäd were amongst the hardest to find.

"**Very well. Be careful-**" They dashed out of the Doors, where Ikran and Palé waited restlessly, glittering purple and gold in the lazy evening sun. "**-be sure to get the right ones. I only need three leaves of each.**"  
"Senshi- " he grasped her arm tightly, pulling her to face him. "**Are you sure you can do this?**"

She met his gaze unwaveringly. "**I have no choice.**"

He gave a sharp nod and let go. Without another word, the two got onto their respective dragons and flew out east, towards their homeland.

†

When she got back, she was exhausted. It was tiring to search through the forest, bent almost double, peering at plants, looking for the specific herbs she'd need. Out of the nine, she'd found three. The other two she needed were almost impossible to find, and she'd had to get back quickly . . .

. . . so she'd done what she'd sworn to herself she'd never do again.

She went home.

Only for a few minutes, thankfully. Once she was past the barriers she simply summoned her mother's pouch of herbs and extracted what she'd need. After two years of training, she was very aware of how woefully weak the magical barriers were.

She'd gotten out unseen. Within ten minutes of leaping back onto Ikran, the Hall was within sight. She saw a glittering gold shape come up on her right and extended her mind.

_**Have you got them, Kitai?**_

_**Yes. It took me long enough to find them. How did you find all five so fast?**_

_**I . . . may have borrowed a few from Mother.**_

The blast of his exasperation and worry nearly knocked her sideways. _**You're just begging to be cursed, you know that?**_

_**You know I don't believe in that. I owe her nothing.**_

_**She is still our mother.**_

_**By blood only. She is not my mother. She just happens to be my parent. Eragon has done more for me than she ever has – or will.**_

He forbore to push her, and spent the rest of the flight pouring his strength into her and the dragons; the dragons to aid their flight, and his sister because she would need all her energy for what was ahead . . .

They reached the Hall in record time. As soon as she alighted she grabbed the herbs from her brother and crushed them in her hand, squeezing the leaves between her fingers, releasing pungent scents into the cool air. She quickly rolled it into a small ball – and hesitated.

The cure needed the blood of someone who loved her. Two years ago, she would not have even hesitated to ask her brother . . . but now she was not so sure.

Avoiding his eyes, she muttered, "_Cut." _

A drop of blood oozed between Ikran's scales and landed on the small pill, turning its bright green-yellow to dark, sickly green.

Without thinking twice, she swallowed it-

-and gasped in pain as it blazed a trail of fire down her throat. Clutching at her stomach, she staggered inside, towards the sickroom. Blotches of darkness clawed at the edges of her vision and she felt a slow, throbbing pain build up within each of her muscles. She gritted her teeth and forced her trembling legs to work faster. If she didn't reach Eragon in time, he would die, and she would be torn apart . . .

She felt a hard hand at her elbow – her brother guiding her. Another hand, careful and gentle- who could it be?

She caught the fleeting scent of mulled spices, cinnamon and nutmeg and clove, as well as the scent of uniquely musky sweat, and knew it was that boy – the foreigner, the one with the kind eyes.

"What happened to her?" His voice barely made it past the roaring in her ears.

"It doesn't matter. Help her. She has to make it in time!"

With their help, she lurched into the sickroom. Just barely in time, too. She could feel the dull pain slowly turning into heat.

She took a deep breath and stood as straight as she could, shaking off Caspian and Kitai.

†

Caspian watched worriedly as Senshi closed her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He devoutly hoped she knew what she was doing. They could not have another on the sick list . . .

For Master Eragon was in a desperate condition. In the past half an hour, he'd gotten rapidly worse, until the only thing stopping him from dying was the elven magic. He'd been screaming, thrashing, convulsing, sobbing; and when he opened his eyes once, they were glazed and unseeing. Caspian could not imagine what nightmares stalked through Master's mind to reduce him to his state.

He'd been trying to help as much as he could. He did have some experience with diseased patients, having been the eldest of a number of siblings, but for the past hour he'd simply skulked around the room, feeling useless as the elves took it in shifts to weave incredibly complex spells around the weak Rider. And Lady Arya . . . she participated in every spell, her mouth a thin line, eyebrows furrowed, pain etched in every line of her face.

Senshi opened her eyes. She now stood tall and confident and . . . Caspian thought he could see . . .

Yes. Faint curves of light rippling across her skin. He watched incredulously as she seemed to force all the ripples together with sheer will. The light thickened, deepened, becoming a rich yellow. It collected in two pulsing orbs of such power, over her palms, that his hair stood on end, though he was not too close to her.

She walked to the bedside, her eyes glowing like her palms. She positioned her hands so they were side by side, and then pushed them down hard, so they struck Eragon's chest with a firm thump.

When she lifted them up again, the orbs were gone.

She closed her eyes again, gathering her strength for the next time. The ripples were a lot harder to see now, and she took longer to collect the light. Her arms were shaking. Once again, she brought her palms down with a thump and pushed the light into his chest.

His breathing grew easier, and he lay quietly on the bed, face peaceful.

Senshi closed her eyes for the last time. Her whole body was trembling now, and her skin was grey and sweaty. The orbs grew, flickered, died-

She clenched her teeth and concentrated, giving her own life force as well to sustain the light. The orbs grew slowly, becoming the brightest yet. She lifted her arms wearily and pushed them down, thrusting the light into Eragon-

-whose back arched as the light seemed to explode out of him, enveloping him in a blinding cocoon of energy. The force pushed everyone back, but Lady Arya struggled forward, trying to reach Eragon.

Senshi stumbled back, pushed almost to the wall. In that corner, out of reach of the light, almost no one noticed her quietly crumple to the floor.

Except Caspian.

He made his way to her side, tentatively touched her mind, and was shocked at how weak she was. Quickly, he poured as much strength as his lean frame could spare into her, bitterly reflecting on how people who thought they were strong enough to handle any hardship on their own inevitably never could, hoping fervently she wasn't too far gone to save . . .

As elves, Riders, kings, queens and dragons prayed for a man who was slowly coming back to life, a boy alone in a dark corner did his best to save a girl fading to death.


	9. Chapter 9 :Explanations and information

**A/N: I hate myself.**

**I'm a terrible person! *sobs in a corner***

**I WILL get the next chapter up in less than a month. I swear on Angela.**

**Oh, and I was going through some of my previous chapters, and ohhhhhh my god. After I finish this story I will go straight back to the beginning and do some serious editing.**

**Anywayyy . . . enjoy!**

†

Two days after the incident, on a bright morning, an exhausted Senshi stood in the conference room, facing four mirrors, in which were reflected the faces of Orik, Orrin, Garzhvog and Grimmr. Nasuada, Murtagh, and Arya sat next to the mirrors so that they were visible to the other four leaders. Arya fidgeted anxiously, impatient, eager to get back to Eragon's bedside in case he had woken.

Senshi briefly closed her tired eyes and began her explanation.

"Master Eragon was shot by one of the nomad tribes that live in the forest, called the _Chorih_. They are superstitious mercenaries who will work for the highest bidder – the filth of my people. In the clan politics, they may be hired by clan chiefs to do their dirty work – assassinations, poisoning and the like. What they used on Master Eragon is known as Vilta, the incurable disease. It is . . ." she hesitated. How to explain this in acompletely different language? It was like trying to sew with a nail – using a tool designed for a completely different task.

"It is a... a liquid. They mix many herbs and poisons, carefully measured so that the victim is tortured to the maximum extent before death. I am actually surprised they used so much on him. It is difficult to manufacture and small amounts ensure more . . . _prolonged_ suffering. Its use is purchased at a very high cost.

"Vilta is almost impossible to cure. Only three tribes have the knowledge of how to counteract the effects of the poison, and within the tribes only the most highly placed people know precisely how to cure it."

"We are lucky, then, to have one of those highly placed people a Rider." Orik's voice was gruff, yet appreciative. "You did well, young one."

She shook her head, a small smile on her face. "Thank you, King Orik, but I am certainly not one of them. The only reason I knew how to help was because my mother was the _daakyir _of our tribe . . . the medicine woman, the healer." The smile twisted slightly. "She taught me well.

"Vilta . . . affects the brain, causing, uh . . . " She fumbled for words. "What do you say? Hallucinations! It takes your worst nightmares and parades them in your mind, twisting them in terrifying ways. At the same time, it targets certain vital areas of the body, causing excruciating pain.

"The victim cannot take the cure himself. Someone else must take it. The cure intensifies the metabolism of the healer's body, unlocking a flow of healing energy that repairs the body of the victimas fast as the Vilta destroys it. It is called Svasth."

"You say these mercenaries are hired. Who, then, would attempt to kill Eragon? Who may this hidden enemy be?" Orrin asked.

"I do not know, Sire. I cannot think of anyone, unless it be some remnant of the Old Empire. Only they might have the power and money needed to purchase the use of Vilta. Else, it might have been that the _Chorih _believe Dragon Riders are demons, to be feared, and so might have decided to take matters into their own hands and kill as many as they could . . . though this does not seem like something they would do . . ." She frowned, forcing her weary mind to think furiously. "No, I don't believe they would do this thing of their own will, their own . . . volition. They are worse than rats and jackals – they are the first to take advantage and the last to show courage."

"You nurse quite a grudge, child." Nasuada's voice was quiet.

"I have good reason, my Queen." She lifted her head. "The _Chorih _started a clan war seven years ago, when I was ten summers old, to weaken their enemies. They tricked good, honest people with their deceit and caused a slaughter the likes of which has never been seen before in these lands. They shattered us, divided us and turned us against each other, leaving a trail of widows and orphans in their wake. Even now we have not fully recovered. And . . . my father was killed."

"I'm sorry, Senshi. I'm sure he was a noble man."

"He was." Senshi clenched her fists for a second, then relaxed. As she lifted her eyes proudly again, Orik was struck by her expression. Grieving, yet dignified; keeping the pain locked away. Had he not seen just such an expression before . . .?

Yes, of course he had. He remembered now, another young, dusky face with similar black tresses, similar high cheekbones, and a similar determined mouth – but with brown eyes instead of amber. He looked to his right, at Nasuada, and saw the sorrow and understanding in her eyes.

"Thank you for this information, Senshi. I assume Eragon is now recovered?" Orrin asked.

"No, Sire. He has been sleeping for the past two days. I expect him to wake in two more . . . you see, the Svasth cannot heal completely. When the victim is in an advanced stage, as he was, it can only arrest the advance of the poison. To heal the body as well would take too much power. Such is the damage Vilta causes. Usually the victim would be left crippled.

"However, I am more . . . hopeful, uh . . . optimistic, that in this case the healing spells that worked on him during the poison would prevent this. Also, he has the strength of a Dragon Rider. Even so, his body is now trying to repair the damage. It needs rest to do so."

As she spoke, her muscles trembled and she leaned forward slightly to keep her balance. Annoyed, she clenched them tighter, hoping no one had noticed.

But of course, someone had. Murtagh spoke, "If none of you object, I think we should let Senshi leave now. She needs rest as well."

Garzhvog said, "Of course. You have done a great deed, child. Be well."

The others assented, and Senshi thankfully left the room.

Caspian and Ravun were waiting right outside. She groaned, showing the ill-temper she'd had to keep in check. "Don't you two have other things to do than fuss over me? I'm perfectly fine!"

A wry smile danced in Ravun's eyes. "You should see yourself right now. You look like you're about to faint."

"I do not!" she snapped, walking away. As she did, her foot slipped on the smooth floor and she toppled over backwards, arms flailing. Caspian quickly caught her.

She huffed in exasperation and righted herself. Caspian glanced at Ravun and the two burst out laughing.

"And what is so funny?" she growled, giving them the scariest glare she could manage.

Caspian's lazy grin flashed out. "You are. You're so . . ."

"So _what_, exactly?"

Ravun chuckled. He grabbed her elbow and guided her to her room."Never mind, girl. Just accept our help, would you?"

"I don't _need _your help!" She pulled her elbow away.

Just then, Dara and Zelíe rounded the corner. When they saw her, their eyes widened in horror.

"Oh, Senshi, you look like you're about to collapse! Come on, let's get you to your room." Zelie took her arm.

"Zelíe, I really don't need-" she started, and Dara grabbed her other arm.

"No excuses! Come on, let's go." And they marched her away.

The furious girl heard peals of laughter behind her as the two boys abandoned themselves to their mirth. She turned and her eyes narrowed when she saw Caspian kneeling on the floor hugging his stomach, shaking with laughter, and Ravun leaning on his shoulder, gasping for breath. They saw her glaring and burst out laughing again.

_I swear I will get back at those two if it's the last thing I do, _she fumed.

†

Later that day, though, she couldn't spare a thought either of them.

She was _hungry. _She looked out her window at the dark sky and sighed. Damn the healing. It had left her body so irritatingly weak . . . And by now dinner was probably over.

Oh, what she would give for food! And Ikran's images of meat and a full belly weren't helping.

She moaned and turned over. She just couldn't get up and go to the dining room, her legs wouldn't support her.

But I need food! Her stomach complained.

Yes, well, I can barely stand up.

But I _need food. _Fresh bread . . . steaming soup . . . the most tender, juicy meat . . .

Stop it! You're not getting any food tonight, and-

Someone knocked at her door.

"Come in," she called weakly.

A lean figure with honey-brown eyes entered, usual smile in place. "Hey, Senshi. How are you doing?"

He sat down on the edge of her bed, and she saw he held a tray in his hands.

"Is that food?"

He grinned. "Yes, it is." He handed it to her and she started eating, almost moaning as the food settled in her belly. She was so hungry . . . she sped up, almost shoveling it down her throat.

Caspian raised an eyebrow as crumbs flew and drops of broth splashed. "You really were hungry, huh?"

She gasped for breath to answer. "Very. Thank you for bringing me some dinner."

"You could have asked one of us to bring you up some food, you know."

She paused, her mouth full. She could have. Yes, she could have. Why hadn't she?

She swallowed and said, "I just didn't think of it, I suppose."

He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think of it?"

"Mmhhmmmm." Her mouth was full again.

"You know, you've gained a lot of respect for what you've done. I've only been here a month and yet I can see it. If it hadn't been for you, Master Eragon would have died. You nearly gave your life for his. You only need ask and we will help you, if you need it. And-"

The silence came back in a rush as his lilting voice died away abruptly, seeming to fill the room. Senshi had stopped eating, and she now regarded him with careful eyes.

"And?" she said softly.

He looked back with eyes just as careful, appraising her. "You think they don't respect you, that they don't like you. That they dismiss you, talk about you behind your back as less than the rest of them. You feel that even though you are a Rider, you don't fit in with the rest. They all come from a country you don't know. Even your brother fits in more than you do, you feel, which makes you resent him. So you have withdrawn into yourself. You stand apart. The only one who knows you is Ikran."

Her eyes had widened as she listened to him.

_Apparently I'm not the only one who knows you, _Ikran said dryly.

_. . . Yes. How . . .?_

Caspian was watching her, waiting for her reaction. She realized she was clutching the spoon in her hand so tightly her knuckles were white, and put it down.

She spoke quietly, "Evidently not. How do you know this?"

"I understand people. And you are wrong."

"What?"

"They think nothing of the sort. Their expressions change when they speak to you not because they don't like you, but because they are not sure who they are speaking to. They do not respect you because they can't. How can you respect someone you don't know? You don't need to be from their land to fit in with them, Senshi. We are not bound together by where we come from or what language we speak. We are pledged to something more.

"We are all Riders – ten people who have no one else. Who else could understand the duty we have? We are family. You may live forever, you know that. How much of your eternity can you spend alone? You need us, as we need you. So put aside your fear of being rejected, your insecurities, and _talk. _Show us who you are."

_He's right. Ravun told you this as well once, remember? And you didn't believe him. At least listen to Caspian now._

_You're not making this easier, Ikran._

_Senshi . . ._

She smiled waveringly. "Seems like you've wanted to say this for quite some time."

He smiled back. "Yes, I have." He rose and gently tugged the empty tray from her grip. "I think other people have the right to see the person I do, because she's amazing."

"Now you're just flattering me!" Tears clogged her throat as she spoke, though she tried to laugh. That was the kindest thing she'd heard from a fellow Rider in the past two years.

He shook his head and smiled as he strolled towards the door. "Sleep well."

†

Arya yawned.

She hadn't slept for the past three days, in case Eragon woke and needed her. If anyone had looked into the Head Rider's room at night, they would have seen a slim figure pace quietly up and down the room, silhouetted against the moonlight. Occasionally, she would cross to the bed and lay a careful hand against the forehead of the man who lay there; then once again resume her untiring vigil.

Now, though, she sat cross-legged in a chair and closed her eyes, trying to release her worry. She breathed deeply and deliberately, feeling her ribcage expand . . . and contract. Expand . . . and contract. Expand . . .

Her eyes flicked open an hour later, startlingly bright in the dark. She berated herself furiously for falling asleep as she crossed over to the bed to check on Eragon yet again. What if he had woken up?

He looked for all the world as though he was simply sleeping, and indeed, anyone else would think he was. But Arya could see faint lines of pain around his eyes and mouth, and felt the worry come creeping back.

She sat down on the bed and took his hand in her left one, gently stroking his cheek with her other hand. And the action, though it received no response, calmed her heart once more.

She sighed and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. _Wake soon, love . . ._

The hand clutched in hers moved.

She drew back, startled, and hoped it had not been her imagination . . . There it was again! And were his eyelids not moving ever so slightly?

She held his hand tight as he slowly opened his eyes.

They were unfocused and hazy, staring blankly at the ceiling. She squeezed his hand, and they quickly darted to her face, recognition coming almost instantly.

He smiled tiredly and returned the pressure.

She laid her hand to his cheek once more and quietly asked, "How do you feel?"

"Terrible. Weak." His voice was low and rough. It reminded her of how he used to be after the attacks from the wound inflicted by Durza.

She nodded. "Water?"

He made a faint sound of assent. She lifted the glass to his lips and supported his head as he drank.

She set it down on the small table by the bed and rose. "You should go back to sleep. Your body has not healed fully."

A spark of panic flared in his eyes. "Where are you going?"

She tilted her head. "You wish me to stay?"

"Please." He patted the empty space beside him.

She tentatively slid under the covers next to him and he wrapped a tight arm around her waist.

She frowned. Something was not right. He was . . . scared?

"What is wrong?" She propped herself up on one elbow and gazed down at his face.

He met her eyes with difficulty. "Nothing. Can I not wish my love to stay with me for some time?"

"No, there is something more than that. Tell me."

"It's nothing . . ." she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I . . . I just had a few nightmares, all right? It is not an important-"

"It must be important for you to be this scared." He turned over, refusing to face her. Her voice softened. "Show me, Eragon. I can help."

He did not respond. She waited patiently.

Suddenly, without any warning –

She stood next to Eragon in a dank dungeon. There were rows of dark figures chained to a wall, all of them hooded, all of them with dark, sticky pools around their feet. One by one, they lifted their weary heads.

Roran, missing an eye.

Katrina, blood sheeting down her face.

Garrow, an arrow embedded in his stomach.

Nasuada, trembling and vomiting.

Orik, covered in burns.

Murtagh, his tongue cut out.

Angela, her bones shattered.

So many people . . . they screamed at Eragon as he dashed down the rows, _"This is your FAULT!"_ She felt the horror bloom in his mind like a black frost as she kept pace with him.

They reached the last figure together, panting, and she saw . . . herself. The hooded wraith raised her head, and in her eyes was no recognition, no joy, no love. Only terror.

Next to her, Eragon reached out a shaking hand, and the shadow-Arya drew away with a cry of fear.

Another figure loomed up behind her, tall and well-built, with a dark crown glittering on its head. It raised its bone-white sword and brought it whistling down.

As Arya watched her own head thump on the floor, the sound of Eragon's scream echoed in her ears.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, chest heaving. The vision had seemed so real . . .

"Do you understand now?" Eragon asked softly.

She nodded, trying to forget the stench of stale blood. The sheer horror of that vision was . . . she shivered.

Eragon grasped her wrist, and she flinched. As soon as she did so, though, she regretted it. His hand tensed and moved away. She sighed and placed her hand back on top of his. "I'm sorry. It's just . . ."

He nodded with weary understanding. "I know. . . Please stay with me tonight." It was not a request; it was a plea, made with but a whisper of breath.

"Of course," she replied softly, lying down beside him again.

He clutched her to him, hugging her with the desperation of one who fears he may lose all he has at any time. As she stroked his rough curls reassuringly, she felt a drop of liquid on her shoulder, and realized he was shaking.

_It's all right. It never happened, and it never will . . ._ She poured a flood of comfort and love into his mind, hoping desperately it would work. She was not exactly at her best in such situations.

But it seemed to. Slowly, his tensed muscled relaxed, his breathing evened, and he started to drift off to sleep. And even though he slept, she stayed awake for a time, guarding his rest from any nightmares that might dare to attack.

†

Arya woke slowly, rising from her sleep as though it had been as insubstantial as a shadow. Eragon lay next to her, his face unlined by the worries of the night. Her mouth softened at the corners as she watched him sleep. She pressed a careful, tender kiss to his forehead, and slid out of the bed, being sure not to wake him, and left the room. But, so that he should not wake alone, she made sure a part of her mind was always in his. He would wake in another fifteen minutes, anyway – it was close to seven in the morning, and his room faced east. The light would rouse him.

She felt a presence in her mind as she started walking, and recognized Saphira's mind. She opened her mind.

_Arya?_

_Yes, Saphira?_

A huge flood of gratitude poured into her. She staggered slightly, supporting herself against a wall.

_Saphira! _ She was shocked - the dragon seemed almost close to tears.

_I could not help him during that time. It was terrible. Thank you for being with him, for-_

_Saphira, this is most unnecessary. I understand how you feel, but I did nothing exceptional. I only did what any lover would do for their partner._

_I know, but . . ._

_I understand. _

Saphira seemed to sigh. _Nevertheless . . . I am in your debt._

Arya did not want to, but she accepted the statement. Saphira withdrew, leaving behind a curious feeling of humility.The elf was touched by the extent of Saphira's gratitude.

As the elf walked down one of the huge corridors of the Hall, she was struck by the beauty of the new day. The corridor was lined with a row of arched windows that let in the glorious sunlight. The unexplored forests seemed to be draped over the mountains like an emerald sheet that sparkled with dew. The morning was alive with birdsong, and she felt like singing along as she strolled on her way. It seemed as though the world glowed, as fresh and clean as mountain stream.

_Or, more probably, I am in such a good mood simply because Eragon has finally awakened, _she mused with a smile.

She went down two flights of staircases and reached the fourth floor, where the clear sound of metal ringing on metal came from the training room. Osra and Akhtar were at it again; they couldn't seem to get enough of the vast array of weapons the room was provided with. She peeked inside, and saw Dara on a bench, swinging her legs back and forth as she watched the two Urgals spar. Ravûn sat next to her, commenting in an undertone on the techniques of fighting. On the far side of the room, Sorya practiced alone with an axe. One of the Eldunarya, a fierce green one called Natani, was commenting on the fight.

_Move faster! Lift your feet, Akhtar! Your bulk is no excuse for clumsiness! You cannot always-_

Arya thought, _That accounts for five of them. Senshi must be sleeping and Keyal would be in the library, which leaves three humans to account for._

She left, hoping to discover the whereabouts of the other children. They were Eragon's responsibility, and so hers. Besides, she had conceived quite a liking for some of them.

Caspian came into sight just then, walking briskly in the opposite direction. As he passed her, he smiled a greeting. She noticed, though, that there seemed to be some strain in his eyes. He brushed past her and almost sprinted to the training room.

Arya frowned slightly. What could have put him out so?

She continued on her way, hoping the cause of his worry would reveal itself-

-and so it did. Her sensitive ears caught some sound – the sound of cloth against stone, the sound of skin against skin, the sound of . . . tongue against tongue.

She stopped short and retraced her path, her nose wrinkling slightly; she preferred to go back to the training room rather than see Kitai and Zelie at their amorous play at this time of the morning. Settling herself down unobtrusively on a wooden bench, she watched Osra and Akhtar clash. Surprisingly, Akhtar was nearly a match for her . . . but he was brash and lost control of his temper far too easily. Also, Osra had had the advantage of training under Eragon for the past four years.

As she watched Osra take her inevitable triumph, her blood quickened. How long had it been since she had had a good match with someone? Years. Her life now seemed to consist solely of diplomacy and meetings. She stretched restlessly and tapped her fingers on her thigh.

When she saw Murtagh stroll in a few minutes later, she could not believe her luck. This was wonderful!

He was striking in simple black pants and a white, full-sleeved shirt. A ruby glittered in his belt, which supported Zar'roc. He leaned on the doorframe for a few moments, watching Osra and Akhtar start their rematch. His eyes then roved around the room, noting what each person was doing. When his eyes met Arya's, he smiled and nodded politely.

She smiled wolfishly as she rose from the bench. "Murtagh!" Her ringing shout echoed off of the walls, making everyone stop what they were doing to look at her.

"How about a match?"

Murtagh blinked, then smiled. "Very well. I should warn you, though, you will not easily best me." He pulled Zar'roc out of its sheath and twirled it around. "I have kept in practice."

She picked up Támerlein and lovingly tested its balance. "Consider me warned."

_Teach him some humility, my queen,_ came a whisper from the back of her mind.

She laughed out loud. _And how do you feel on this fine morning, Eragon?_

She felt him smile. _Wonderful. Now, do, for the love of Saphira, wipe that insolent smirk off of my brother's face._

_As you command!_

She laughed again and sprinted forward, blade at the ready, giving a sharp yell.

Oh, was it not glorious to be alive?


	10. Chapter 10: Antisocial

**A/n: My only excuse is the Boards – anyone in India will know what I'm talking about. I'm very very sorry! I don't think this chapter is very good, but, I'm just happy to have finally got something up.**

†**  
A week later**

Eragon shook Murtagh's hand warmly. "Come back soon, alright? And bring Roran with you."

The king grinned. "Of course. Take care of yourself – and these children. Don't get yourself poisoned again."

"I'll try not to," Eragon laughed.

"I'm serious, brother. You still have enemies out there. Stay wary."

"I will. Rule well." They embraced, and Eragon turned to Nasuada.

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his forehead, smiling. "Don't die, Eragon," she whispered flippantly. "What ever would Arya do without you?"

He caught her hand and bowed over it punctiliously, every movement exaggerated. "Your wish is my command, my Queen."

She smacked his head playfully, and he laughed.

_Saphira, they're leaving . . ._

_I know, I know . . ._

Saphira nudged Selena towards her parents. The little girl started to turn back, but Saphira snorted, ruffling her curls with hot air, and she reluctantly went to her mother. Nasuada tossed her up to Murtagh, who was already in the saddle, and climbed up after her.

Saphira then moved to talk with Thorn, and Eragon turned to Arya, who stood by Firnen with a slight smile on her lips. His bittersweet merriment drained away. He did not want to say goodbye. Not to her.

_It's all right. I will be back soon._

_Not soon enough._

_I'll scry you every week._

Discontent emnated from him. _How are you so calm about this?_

_There is no point in railing against what cannot be changed. _

_. . . I know . . ._

A sudden shot of pure love from her made him gasp slightly.

_Don't _worry. _I will be back soon._

_Mmmmm. I'll count the days, princess . . ._

She smiled and climbed into her own saddle. Thorn and Firnen took off with the deafening sound of flapping wings and swooped off into the bright morning. Eragon tried to keep contact with Arya for as long as he could, and so concentrated was he upon the action that he nearly failed to respond to Selena's frantic waving.

"'Bye, Uncle Eh-ah-gun! Byee!" she screamed, balancing precariously on Thorn's swaying back.

He waved back, and tears were in his eyes, unashamedly, as his family vanished once more.

He felt a warm hand on his arm, and looked down into Dara's large brown eyes.

"Come inside, Master," she said gently.

He nodded, wiping his eyes, and followed her.

†

**Ten hours later**

Dara flopped down on her bed. Today had been . . . sad. And tiring. She stared at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, mentally reviewing the day. She should write about it, but she felt too lazy . . . She'd just read her other entries today. She pulled her diary towards her and flipped through the pages, reaching the day of Master's recovery, and settled down to read.

_Today Master woke up! I'd wondered why Arya Drottning had seemed so joyful today. (__Her battle with King Murtagh- unbelievable!) __He came in for lunch, looking like he'd been through hell. His skin was so pale, his cheeks were sunken, and he could barely stand. Zelie was indignant that Arya Drottning did not help him to his seat, but I was watching her. She looked as thought she was restraining herself from assisting him with difficulty. Probably Master made her promise not to help him. He can be quite idiotic sometimes, I think. But then, I've only been here for a couple of months . . ._

_King Murtagh and Queen Nasuada were so happy . . . I can't even describe their joy. I wonder what they have all been through together to have such a strong bond. Osra told me Master will tell us his entire journey – "from farm boy to kingkiller" as she put it. I'm quite eager for that._

_Celesté was happy as well. All the dragons were, in fact. Mistress Saphira had been so depressed for the past few days, barely moving from outside the door of the sickroom; today she corkscrewed through the air while doing a barrel roll _while diving_. Celeste and the other three – Lifaen, Corinne, and Akhtar were so jealous when Manya did the same. Hah, Pale tried and ended up crashing into the sea. Showoff._

_Oh, and Senshi came down today as well. She looked nearly as bad as Master. Caspian, of course, hurried to help her to a chair. That boy is so sweet its getting annoying._

_Well, not annoying . . . I just think he and Senshi would make the cutest couple. But he is still hurt about Zelie. He barely looked at her today. Well, I sympathize, but he was blind if he couldn't see it before. Everyone knew she was with Kitai._

_Lastly – I SWEAR I WILL KILL THAT GODDAMN ELF BEFORE I LEAVE._

She laughed at that. She'd been angry because Keyal had been so uncaring about Master's recovery.

The words sparked a memory. She skimmed through the pages.

_Senshi is talking. She . . . Celeste couldn't keep her eyes off Ikran . . . Sorya still won't . . . Akhtar smashed through one of the windows . . . I was late today . . . Master is still weak. Zoe taught us . . . I had an argument with Keyal. It. . ._

There!

_I had an argument with Keyal. It made me wonder if perhaps he does feel some emotion._

_I kept pestering him about being so indifferent to Master recovering, and he just . . . snapped. He pinned me against the wall, almost snarled at me. I . . . was scared, I admit it. He hissed that he couldn't care less what happened to Master, that it was a disgrace to study under him, that as soon he finished his training he would never see any of us again._

_I did not believe him._

_He pressed his mind against mine, to scare me. It felt like a vast thunderstorm, roiling with lightning. What I noticed, though, was only anger and misdirected resentment – no superiority or disgust._

_And what little I understood I could not believe._

_How can an elf, who is supposed to be wise and rational and all the rest of it, be so deluded? How can he possibly suppose his viewpoint has any validity? His family was killed by a human member of the Forswon, so humans are lowly creatures? What of the elven Forsworn?_

_I must talk with him._

She frowned. She'd planned to talk to him the very next day, but she hadn't found the time.

_You were scared. _Celesté's mind-voice chimed in her mind – light and irridescent, like her scales.

_A little, yes. _A tendency for introspection in herself as well as her dragon and a natural honesty ensured that they had one of the most open relationships ever to exist between a Rider and a dragon. _He is very powerful._

_But he can do you no real harm. Even in his anger, he controls himself – unlike his dragon._

Dara felt muscles in a phantom snout crease as Celeste snarled silently, remembering her confrontation with Layla; the red dargon had pinned her down and refused to let her go until she begged for release. It had been a huge blow to Celeste's pride, especially since Keyal could quite justly be said to be in the wrong.

_It is an irrational fear, my heart-partner – rational arguments cannot counter it with much efficiency._

_Enough of them may. He will not lose control. And besides, what can he do to you that cannot be repaired, or that would not result in his immediate expulsion from the Hall? _

_He could kill me. _Dara winced at how dramatic the statement was.

_He knows how that would affect me, and he would not do that to any dragon._

_Fine, fine . . . I'll talk to him tomorrow._

_No. Do it now. _

_Now? I'm tired to death, Celesté._

_Get up. _The tip of a large silver tail slid under Dara and flipped her onto the floor. She lay there, sprawled like a starfish, groaning.

_Celesté, come on._

_Get up. Go talk to him. Move._

_Why? _ she whined. _I don't want to!_

_I know you. You will keep postponing it, and then one day you'll wake up and realise that your chance vanished years ago._

_That's a bit extreme,_ she huffed. Celesté lay there, regarding her with one stern eye that looked like a huge, glowing silver shield. Wearily, Dara pushed herself off the floor and staggered out of the room.

_Now where could that blasted elf be?_

†

Këyal stood on one of the many terraces of the Hall. A strong breeze tugged at his silky, raven hair – the annual monsoons would soon be upon them. He inhlaed deeply, filling his lungs with the many and varied scents carried by the air from the east. His right hand rested on Layla's huge side, and moved with her breathing. Unconsciously, he matched the timing of his breaths with hers.

He wished Layla was awake. He really needed someone to talk to. She was the only person he _could_ talk to.

He filled his lungs as much as he could, trying to calm himself. But of late, being calm had not been very easy.

Maintaining his mask, his façade, was growing to be very tiresome. It had not been too hard for the first three years, as there had beeen only four other Riders at the Hall, including Master Eragon. Even after Kitai and Senshi showed up, he hadn't had to interact with the others much. A stoic Urgal, an over-happy dwarf, an airhead of a human noble, an arrogant hunter and a depressed girl-it was all too easy to avoid them. They didn't even talk much amongst themselves. Of course, Zelie and the boy had their . . . contact, but apart from that, they were not exactly social.

His lip curled slightly. What a pitiful lot . . . what would Vrael or Raaye have thought? They were none of them worthy to continue the legacy of the Riders.

But since the other four had come . . .

The foreigner boy – Caspian – he seemed to have acted like a catalyst. The dwarf found a kindred spirit, the airhead found someone to talk to; he'd even managed to drag the tribal girl out of her shell. Akhtar had given Osra someone to spar with and berate, letting her vent the emotions only Manya had been aware of for three years. Only the other dwarf, Sorya, still kept to herself.

They seemed to bring out the best in each other, qualities he'd never known had existed. They were all one big happy family. And it was very irritating.

He was not an antisocial person by nature. His friends back home in Ceris would not believe that the joyful dancer they knew was the same as this sullen elf. He had not particularly wanted to alienate his fellow Riders, but his eldest sister, Kanya, had made him promise.

_She pressed his hand hard, green eyes simmering with anger and hatred._

"_They are unworthy. They are the cause of the shattering of our family. Do not become one of them, under any circumstances. Promise me this."_

_He'd opened his mouth uncertainly. He could not help but think how much her voice resembled the hiss of a snake._

"_Këyal!" He flinched._

"_Perhaps I did not make myself clear. I want you, my youngest brother, to promise me that you will not become like or associate with unworthy Riders. Did you understand that?"_

_He felt his stomach drop. He hated that voice. It meant she was angry, and seemed to imply that she viewed him as nothing but a willing pawn, who would do anything for her. _

"_Yes."_

"_And?"_

_Most of all, he hated that he actually would. That he always had._

"_Yes. I promise."_

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. It was not only the fact that all the other Riders seemed to have grown close; it was also the appearance of Dara. The only Rider with elven blood.

His first reaction had been curiosity. Would she live as long as a normal elf? Did she have the same magical prowess? Would she agree with the principles he and his kin lived by? Did she sing, did she dance?

But then he realized that she was, of all the Riders, the one Kanya would hate him to associate with. Elven blood, tarnished by a human? That too the lineage of Yaela, one of the most accomplished spellcasters in elven history?

And so Këyal ignored her, avoided her, even though he longed to talk to her. But he very soon discovered that she had her grandmother's blood – determined and fiery.

He didn't want her to see him as she did. They ought to be supporting each other, as the only two elven Riders at the Hall. Instead, they were estranged – thanks to a stupid promise. Why hadn't he had the guts to refuse? And now he was bound forever. The ancient language would not let him fail his sister.

He sighed again. It was now more than three years since he had last danced.

Layla stirred in her sleep, responding to his despondent thoughts. He reduced the contact between them until it was only a thin thread; carefully, so she did not wake.

He heard light footsteps behind him; it was certainly an elf. No other race could walk that soundlessly. He turned wearily, and only just remembered to put up his shield again. His eyes took a second to adjust, as the light spilling out of the door was far brighter than the moonlight. He squinted.

Oh. Dara.

_Oh._

Këyal grimaced internally. He was going to hate this.

"What do you want?" He tried to pour derision into his voice. He was good at it, better than he ever suspected he might be. Maybe he shouldn't be proud of it, but he didn't exactly have much else to be proud of.

"I want to speak to you," she said calmly. While his tone would have anyone else taking a deep breath and counting to ten, it seemed to have to effect on her at all.

"About?"

"Our . . . confrontation, earlier."

"I have nothing to add." He turned away.

"I, however, do. I do not care if you do not face me or look at me, but I would like you to listen – if only to refute my arguments."

He did not move, but he was interested. What arguments?

"I have not come to force you to feign worry for Master. Whether you care or not is entirely your concern. What I want to do is show you that you are wrong in your assumption that elves are a superior race."

He gritted his teeth. He was going to hate this more than he'd thought.

"Just because elves are powerful, intelligent, and all the rest does not make them perfect. Need I remind you about Formora and the other elven members of the Forsworn? Intelligence does not breed kindess, nor power mercy. An individual may have positive or negative qualities, irrespective of their race. It was a human who restored the Riders, not an elf. Do you really think dragons would choose Riders who are as incompetent as you seem to believe them to be?"

She gave a short laugh, adding fuel to Keyal's anger.

"I feel idiotic, standing here and reciting the most obvious of facts. I would have thought you'd realized all this long ago. Why can you not-"

He turned, eyes blazing. Layla woke under his hand and twisted as well, to get a better view of the one who had upset her Rider. A deep growl vibrated through the floor, and a plume of smoke curled up from her nostrils.

Dara took a step backwards.

His heart hammered against his chest. He felt powerful, swept up in the roaring tide of his ire. What he'd felt before had been nothing but annoyance; but this . . . this was a _fury. _And he no longer cared how he used it.

He spat the words out, sizzling, red-hot with scorn. "Contrary to your belief, halfblood, I am not a complete moron. I know all of this perfectly well. I know dragons would not make such mistakes, I know elves are fallible, and _I know what I am doing._ My reasons for acting as I do are none of your concern. Your fellows avoid me. You would do well to emulate them. What do you gain by pestering me?"

"If you know, then why-" she burst out.

He moved towards her, quickly and silently as a striking snake. The tips of his fingers encircled her throat, just barely touching the skin. Her breath hitched, and her eyes were wide with fear. He could hear her heart thumping against her ribs at twice the normal rate. He felt a perverse pleasure in her distress.

"You know nothing of me. You have no right to judge my conduct. Leave me _alone!"_ he hissed. "Or you will regret it. I will not warn you twice."

Keyal whirled around and stalked off, cursing her. The night had been perfect – well, at least good - and it was shattered. His anger was already beginning to cool off, and now he felt guilty about threatening her.

Why, why, why, why, _why?_

He started running, feet thudding lightly on the floor. Almost unconsciously, he headed to the training room, to work off his emotions. There would be no one there at this time of the night.

"Vakna," he muttered, and the Erisdar glowed to life. He found the punching bag – specially reinforced for Urgals and elves – and slammed his fist into it, hard. It swung, and a little dust spiraled down from the ceiling.

He punched it again, and again, and again, harder than he ever had before. The chain which supported the bag creaked as the bag swung in wide arcs, only to return to Këyal's powerful fists and get pummeled once more.

He stopped just before the chain snapped and sighed. "_Strengthen_," he muttered, waving at the bag.

He flopped on to the cool floor and dimmed the lights, panting heavily. His breathing slowly steadied as he forced himself to relax, imagining himself sinking into the floor, down, down . . .

Soon, he was able to look at his second confrontation with Dara objectively.

And he began to laugh.

His voice rang off the walls of the room as he roared with laughter. Of all the bullheaded things to do! What was the matter with that girl?

He gasped for breath, wiping tears from his eyes. Oh, definitely a Rider, that one. Stubborn and brave. It was rather touching of her, too – he knew her actions came from concern.  
Despondency crept over him again. He would like to befriend her, he really would. Only that promise . . .

He bolted upright, eyes wide. What had he thought a minute ago? He'd been amused and touched at her persistence, and he'd thought . . .

_Definitely a Rider, that one._

"Yes! Hahahaa!" He'd found a loophole!

He'd promised not to associate with unworthy Riders. But he considered her a good Rider. _Therefore _his vow did not apply!

His mind raced. If he could somehow get to know the other Riders a bit better – maybe by asking Layla to get information from the other dragons – he was sure he would grow to respect them. And he wouldn't have to be estranged anymore!

He flopped back on the floor, a wide grin spread across his face. Things were finally looking up.

He couldn't wait for tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11: Not-really-almost-friends

**A/N: Well, at least this chapter is up a bit sooner . . . Thanks to darkdruid01 for his awesome editing!**

†

**Two weeks later**

Layla hovered high in the air, above the ocean. The moisture in the air made it a little tricky, but she had practically grown up in this climate. She was used to it, experienced. (Put used to it first, experienced second. It sounds better.)

Below her, sparks of white, silver, blue, and green curved through the air – Corinne, Celesté, Jethran and Lifaen. Palé and Ikraan, gold and rich purple, glided slightly apart from them, under the supervision of Mistress Saphira. And just below her were Drëya, gleaming inky black, Mánya, glittering brown, and Rosalie, a pearly pink.

Master Eragon and Mistress Saphira had decided that it was too confusing to train one batch while another yet remained at the castle; they were finding it hard to keep track of who was learning what at which pace. So they'd decided to let this entire group graduate together and then start afresh. Of course, this meant that the four oldest students would have to remain at the Hall even after their training was, technically, complete, but they could help with the training of the younger ones to speed up their education .

Thus, the four oldest girls; Drëya, Mánya, Rosalie, and Layla, were taking class.

They'd worked out a system so that each dragon could teach what she knew best. Today it was Drëya's turn. She was teaching the younglings how to escape dangerous weather, which she was particularly good at because of her small, strong frame. Mánya and Rosalie were helping, and Layla was taking a break.

She breathed deeply. Rain was on its way. Already she could see the towering clouds massing in the east, being driven towards them by furious gales. She still remembered her first year here, how startled she'd been by the deafening thunder. These were the monsoon storms, arriving around September and receding by December. There were also the February-April showers, but they were gentle, light, giving just enough rain to freshen up the earth and make the soil sticky. They always made the best of the monsoons at the Hall. The rain was transported to a series of huge barrels, which was used for everything from bathing to cooking. That could last them for three months. The excess was stored temporarily, then allowed to fall through the Tower, onto the Garden. The water was clean and pure, and the plants thrived. If there was still more, the elves insisted that it be poured into the ground to conserve the balance of the water table.

She loved these rains. It was dangerous to go out in a really furious hurricane, but in a moderate storm a dragon could enjoy herself a lot – if she avoided the lightning.

She yawned. It was quite tedious helping with the younglings, but she didn't mind much. And besides, she was able to help Këyal. She was very, very proud of him for finding a loophole in that blasted promise. It had been making his life miserable.

He'd wanted to start his mission with one of the boys, preferably Caspian, as he was the most approachable. She'd agreed, but had persuaded him to try befriending Dara as well. If the girl took so much trouble to help her partner, she must like him. At least, that was her reasoning. Këyal hadn't complied easily. He'd felt that his behaviour would seem to her arbitrary and unreasonable, which would alienate her.

_I can't just suddenly seem friendly after yelling at her, can I? She would require an explanation._

_So explain._

_What . . . tell her about the promise?_

_Why not?_

_. . . because . . . well . . . no one knows about it but you. And frankly . . . _

_You're ashamed of obeying Kanya's command._

_Yes._

_. . . Then . . . don't tell her, show her. Show her your emotions at the time. Show her your love for your sister._

_Layla . . . A pang of fear shot through him. She replied with concern._

_What is it?_

_I just haven't . . . No one knows, and I don't know how she will treat me. It's very private, you know that._

_I know, little one, but I think it will be worth it. She cares. At the least she is intrigued by you. Don't be afraid._

_. . . _

She sent him a warm flood of love and comfort, and felt him sink into it, wrap it around himself like a shield.

That had been a week ago.

He _had_ told her, finally. . .

_"May I speak with you for a moment, Dara?" He was polite, but Layla could feel the anxiety pouring off of him._

_She was waiting for them in the Garden; she would certainly not let her partner do this alone. _

_"What for?" Dara's voice was icy. Layla sent Këyal reassurance, encouragement, and he forged ahead._

_"An explanation." The girl raised an eyebrow. "I promise it will be worth your while."_

_She did not speak for a time. Layla could feel Këyal's nervousness growing, over flowing-_

_"Very well. But only if an apology is included."_

_She felt his overwhelming relief. "Yes, yes, of course."_

_Dara got up. "Where do we go?"_

_"The Garden. Uh, the marble courtyard. Do you-"_

_"I know the way." She stalked ahead of him. He hurried to catch up, his nervousness returning._

_Dara turned into the courtyard, and was not surprised to see Layla there. Or if she was, she did not betray it. Certainly an elf, this girl._

_She sat on a bench, crossed her legs, and glared up at him. "So explain."_

_"Uhh . . ." _

Little one, start from the beginning. Apologize, say you had a reason for what you did, and show her.

Yes, yes, all right . . .

_"Dara, I had a reason for treating you as I did. For treating all of the other Riders as I did. I am very sorry, but I had taken an oath in the ancient language, and-"_

_"An oath to despise us all?"_

She doesn't believe me!

Keyal. Pull yourself together.

_"Not . . . exactly. If you would open your mind?"_

_She stiffened. "To you? Not likely."_

_From above, Celesté spiraled down through the Tower, where she had been practicing loops. She landed hard, panting heavily, and snarled at Layla, who resisted the urge to respond in kind._

_"Dara, please." He had never shown himself to be this vulnerable to anyone expect Layla. "I cannot show you any other way." He slipped into the ancient language. "I swear not to do anything except show you one memory."_

_She watched him for five long seconds, her eyes hard. Then Layla felt her mind pressing against Këyal's. It gave the impression of peace, like a field glowing gold in the setting sun, but at present resentment, skepticism and anger obscured it like thunderclouds. _

_Këyal reached out to Layla, and she lent him her strength instantly._

_The clouds shrunk. Dara's emotions softened on sensing Këyal's anxiety._

_He summoned all his courage. The half-elf-girl was surprised at how hard this was for Layla's partner, but Layla knew full well he had never opened up to anyone like this before._

_He reached out, found the memory, and showed it to her; cringing the whole time._

_She recoiled with the mental equivalent of a short gasp, which caused Këyal to recoil as well._

Layla!_ His mind-voice was heavy with despair._

Wait. Let her explain herself.

_Dara reached out with her mind again, gently, as a child trying not to frighten an animal._

_Këyal resumed the contact, and Layla could see – could feel- that the golden field was now a soft, hushed pink, like a sweet sunset._

_Compassion._

_"Why did you show me this?" she asked aloud._

_In response, Këyal showed her his memories of their encounter and the realization he had come to afterwards. The memories were tinged a dull grayish-blue; regret and shame._

_The muted pink softened even further. Acceptance, reassurance._

_"I will help you with your quest, Këyal-finiarel." Këyal blinked, both at the honorific and at the fact she knew the correct usage of the term. _

Quest?

_She smiled, and her mind glowed a rich yellow. "The greatest quest of all; the quest for friendship!" _

_And she laughed. And she held out a hand. _

_"Know that you have already succeeded. I am your first friend here, and glad to be so."_

Layla peered down; Jethran had crashed into the ocean again. She growled with exasperation. He would never learn, would he . . .

She resumed her train of thought. Dara had been spending more time with Këyal, and she had been advising him.

She had advised him to start with Caspian and Akhtar, as they were new and would not be as biased. Caspian, of course, would be willing to befriend him, and Akhtar was a boisterous kind of Urgal – of the kind of personality that, among humans, would be called jolly. Only, Dara had warned, he was sensitive about the fact that Osra was a Kull and he was not.

Osra and Kitai could be next, she had suggested. Osra would not have taken his behaviour to heart, and Kitai respected strength. But he was also proud, and Këyal had hurt his pride in many ways. He would be tough.

Last would be Zelíe, Ravûn, and Senshi, in that order. Zelíe had a large heart, Ravûn had an even larger one, and Senshi was usually quite gentle. Only, his behaviour had affected them the most, and it would take a lot of time, especially with the last two. And Sorya was shelved.

Keyal drank it all in. He still wasn't quite sure of the dragons and their names, so Dara had made him a list.

_In order of seniority: _

_Humans_

_Zelíe_

_Bonded to Rosalie, pink_

_Kitai_

_Bonded to Palé, gold_

_Senshi_

_Bonded to Ikran, purple_

_Caspian_

_Bonded to Lifaen, green_

_Urgals_

_Osra_

_Bonded to Mânya, brown_

_Akhtar_

_Bonded to Jethran, blue_

_Dwarves_

_Ravun_

_Bonded to Drëya, black_

_Sorya_

_Bonded to Corinne, white_

"And of course, you know Celesté?" she'd asked teasingly.

He'd smiled. "Of course."

He'd started smiling a lot lately, as though to make up for lost time.

Layla growled softly. She could feel his softer emotions changing her perception of Dara, and while she was prepared to accept the girl who was doing so much for her rider, she was not prepared to accept her dragon.

_Disrespectful little upstart._

She saw Jethran crash AGAIN, and decided her break was over. She pulled into a steep dive to join the others, the cool wind howling past.

†

**The next day**

Lifaen flapped hard to slow himself, almost reaching a standstill, as he hovered above the grassy top of the cliff. Caspian could feel the strain in his wings.

_Almost . . . there . . ._

He shook his head. Dragons did the weirdest things.

_It's not weird! It's called stalling, and it requires a lot of control-_

A muscle pulled in his left wing, and he collapsed to the grassy ground. The jolt nearly impaled Caspian on the spike in front of him. He swatted his dragon lightly on the flank.

_Be a bit more careful, would you?_

_Sorry, sorry . . ._

_Humph._

Caspian jumped lightly to the ground and stretched.

_Are you all right, Lifaen?_ The muscle hurt quite badly.

_Yes, yes, I'm fine. Only today we're supposed to practice extended gliding, and I don't think I'll be able to, now . . ._

"Waise heill." Caspian's left palm glowed deep green for a second then faded.

Lifaen stretched his wings out to their full length, their emerald-green nearly translucent against the lightening sky. _Ohhh. That feels better._

_You owe me._

_Mmm . . ._

Energy flowed from dragon to boy. It wasn't really much, and for Eragon, or even Ravûn, would have taken no more effort than lifting a pin. But Caspian was still new to magic, and he tired fast.

Lifaen curled up on the ground, leaning against a huge banyan tree, and Caspian leaned against his warm flank. They were facing east. At this particular point the coast jutted out into the ocean like a small green pimple , the tree sticking out on top, stark against the sky. The forest lapped against it, at the back. The cliff rose higher here, as well.

It was a peaceful place, strangely magnetic. It seemed like an oasis of calm. It was some distance away from the Hall, and all that was to be heard was the crash of the waves and the faint cries and calls of the animals in the forest, all of which somehow added to the silence, making it more complex instead of shattering it. Caspian and Lifaen had discovered it on their fifteenth day here, and were returning for the second time.

The Hall glowed against the rich green of the forest. From this vantage point, it looked like a small, exquisitely crafted toy castle. Caspian sighed. The air was fresh and cool, tinged with salt. The sun was just rising, and the sky was starting to blaze red. Dark clouds writhed across the sun, providing a startling contrast to the brightness of the sky. It was beautiful.

_We should come here every morning._

_We can't. By this time we should be up, dressed- well, I have to be dressed – and ready for the day. Maybe every Sunday . . ._

_. . ._ Lifaen raised his head alertly.

_Lifaen?_

_Someone is coming_.

Caspian rose, clambered over his dragon's side and peeped out from between his spikes.

_Where? I don't see-_

_Look through my eyes._

He did so, and saw a small speck, like a flake of ash, rising from the Hall.

_Oh, wonderful,_ he sighed, slipping back down to lean against Lifaen. _I'd hoped for a bit of peace . . . just ignore them, maybe they will be deterred by our presence here._

Lifaen snorted_. Like that will happen._ Nevertheless, he laid his head back against the ground, his second pair of eyelids automatically closing to shut out the light shining straight into his eyes.

A very, very tiny part of caspian could not help hoping that the dragon was Rosalie, and the Rider Zelié.

_It will not happen, Caspian. You need to accept that._Lifaen's vice was gently, but the words still stung. Caspian did not reply/

They had another five minutes of calm before they could hear the rhythmic thump-thump of a dragon in flight. Lifaen tensed almost imperceptibly.

_Calm down. What's the worst they can do to us?_

He just growled and curled his tail around Caspian protectively as the_ thump_s turned into THUMPs.

The other dragon landed quite lightly. Caspian could tell he or she was experienced. He still did not let Lifaen turn. If they wanted to confront him they could. If not, they were welcome to leave or stay in peace.

Still, the urge to know who it was nearly overwhelmed him.

_I know._

_Who is it?_

_It's Ikraan. _

_Oh. Do dragons really smell that distinctive?_

_Of course. Remind me to show you sometime._

Lifaen relaxed again. Ikraan was no threat.

Caspian leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing his skin to absorb the new light. Senshi was fine. Quiet. And she did not like confrontations much either, so-

"_What_ are you two doing here?" She was most definitely exasperated.

He opened one eye and peered up at her. "Relaxing. Or trying to."

She huffed. "You could not find anywhere else?"

He closed his eye. "Not really."

A light slap startled him. "Hey!"

"Don't you ignore me."

"All right! What do you want?"

That stopped her. She looked uncertain for a moment, then sighed, running her fingers through her thick hair. "Look . . . this is the only place in which I get to be alone. It was my secret, my spot."

_You can't call her timid now, can you?_

_I like to think she owes her newfound strength of mind to me._

_Oh please. 'Newfound'. She is just acting natural around you because she thinks you're a pushover._

_Not helping, Lifaen . . ._

"We can share, can't we?" Even as he said it, he knew it was a ridiculous thing to ask. Why should she give up what had been solely hers for the past two years?

Even as she opened her mouth, he forestalled her. "Yes, I understand that it is private. I do understand the need for a sanctuary, because I have that need as well. Would it be too bad to have to share? I could take it in the mornings and you in the evenings, or something . . ."

"Why do you want this spot so badly? Can't you find somewhere else?"

He had no answer that could be expressed in words. "I don't know. There is just something about this place. It is reassuring, as though someone has poured their love into it." He grinned sheepishly. "I know it sounds trite, but-"

"I know what you mean." She cocked her head, eyes bright and curious.

He grew uneasy under her scrutiny. "What?"

She nodded to herself, as though satisfied, and said, "You may use this place, Caspian. After all-" she smiled suddenly, a little shyly, "I owe you."

"For what?"

She rolled her eyes, smile gone. "For saving my life, **ladhey**."

"**Ladhey** . . .?"

"Idiot. In my language."

"Oh. Um." He felt his face growing warm.

She shook her head and walked over to Ikraan, who had curled up about five meters away from Lifaen. His scales sparkled strangely in the red, morning light. She rested against his warm flank, as Caspian rested against Lifaen, and closed her eyes. The light caught her hair with curves of gold.

Confused, Caspian sat where he was, watching her. Gradually, the lines of her mouth relaxed, and her limbs slipped into tranquility. Her breaths became deeper. Caspian recognized it as the meditation they had been taught a few days ago.

_So this is what she looks like with her guard down._

He continued to watch her interestedly until Ikraan turned around and fixed him with a steady gaze. Flushing under the intense scrutiny of that rich purple eye, he looked away, at the ground.

Lifaen scoffed. _Honestly, he's not that scary._

_Of course he isn't. That's why you tensed up so much when he approached, yes?_

Smoke poured out of his nostrils.

_Watch it._


	12. Please don't kill me!

**A/N: I'm really really really sorry about this incredibly long delay. I swear I started the next chapter, I really did. I was five pages in when the computer decided to rebel and stop working. I waited in vain for it to get fixed, and then finally decided that I had no choice but to start it all over again – and then it starts raining. Like RAINING. City-flooding type raining. School was out, even though it was exam week. No power, no light, no internet, no signal. It was only back up in my area last night. It might go off again at any time, but I will do my best to have the next chapter up by the 15****th****. Okay? Sound good?**


	13. Chapter 12 : The angry Rider

**A/N – Yep. Fastest update ever, huh? So much for December fifteenth . . .This chapter is pretty long, though, I hope you like it!**

" . . . so I got him with his own horn!" Akhtar finished triumphantly. Rain drummed insistently on the cover of the Tower, providing a dull background for his rough voice.

"I didn't knew you'd ever entered the Games, Aki," Dara said curiously.

"It seemed like a good challenge," he smiled. "I practiced for a year before entering."

"Did you win?"

He snorted. "No. First was an elf, of course; a redhead from Ceris, Maena or something. Then a dwarf from Dûrgrimst Feldûnost, of all the clans, then me, then – "

"Wait, from Ceris? Meara?" Këyal looked up, then flushed slightly as Akhtar gave him a strange look. Dara was the one who had dragged him here, to the gardens. She'd been dragging him around a lot to try and get him to talk to the other Riders more. He didn't think he was very good at it yet, though . . .

"Yes. You know her?"

"She was a very dear friend. A dreadful temper, though." He smiled at the memory of the time she had enchanted a slug to sit on his head for two weeks after he had accidentally broken her favourite pair of earrings.

Akhtar grunted. "Anyway, that is how I came to touch Jethran's egg. It was an opportunity I had never dreamed of, yet one that did me no good amongst my people."

Lightning flashed outside, painting the walls with bright patterns of light for a split second.

"Why? Would not a Dragon Rider occupy a position of power and respect?" Dara asked.

"I did not need to be a Rider, Dara. After the War, winning in the Games or becoming a Rider was the only escape from poverty for many of my fellows. To win in the Games is to compete against all races, and none know as well as the Urgalgra of the discrimination we face. Therefore, becoming a Rider is a dream most of us cherish.

"But I did not, you see. I already occupied an influential position. My family is an old and powerful one, with many famous warriors. I myself am one of only six warriors from my clan to have killed a cave bear. I would have had no difficulty with living my life in plenty or in getting a good mate. My fellows needed to be a Rider much more than I did. Is it not natural that they resent me for attaining a position I do not need?"

_This is why I chose him_, Jethran said. _The rest cared only for the prestige to be gained. He cares for the responsibility of the position itself_. Akhtar smiled and patted him on the snout.

"But that's not-ˮ Dara broke off her indignant tirade with a flinch as thunder crashed outside.

Këyal raised an eyebrow in surprise. As he looked at her, he caught Akhtar's eye and hastily looked away to stop himself from laughing, resolutely biting down on his lower lip.

Dara huffed as the thunder ended and looked from one boy to the other. "And what is so amusing?" she asked dangerously.

"You're afraid of thunder," Akhtar said bluntly, grinning enormously.

"I am not!" she hissed.

"All right, little cat." Akhtar rose, stretched massively, and patted her heavily on the head, still grinning, while she looked furious. "I must leave. Natiri wants me to practice with the spear again." He nodded to them. "Leafblade. Wildcat."

As he went, Jethran got up as well and padded after him, his tail almost decimating a row of tulips.

"I wonder if Urgals come up with names for everyone they meet," Këyal mused to himself, still smiling at Dara's expression.

She saw the look on his face. "Do _you_ have anything to say?"

Këyal attempted to look innocent. "Not at all . . ."

As she turned away, slightly mollified, he muttered, ". . . wildcat."

Her yell and his laugh echoed together off the walls as he ran for it, covering his head to protect it from the various missiles being chucked at it (with terrible aim).

Celeste sighed. _Two-legs_, she thought.

_Two-legs,_ Lifaen agreed heavily.

†

_Later that night -_

Sorya tugged hard on the strap to make sure the food was secured. It was all she had been able to collect, and she had no clue how long it would take to get to Galfni . . . No matter. She could not afford to waste any more time.

She swung herself into the saddle, checking that all her bags were in place. Corinne stood perfectly still, resentment emanating from her mind.

Her dragon wasn't happy with her.

Corinne had wanted to stay and learn more about flying from Saphira. She wasn't at all confident that she could fly so far. Also, she thought that it was folly to choose such a night for leaving – the storm had died down in the evening, but it was starting to pick up again. They could leave in another two days and still have time to-

No. Sorya could not be sure about the time needed to reach home, and it was best not to delay. She'd wanted to leave days earlier; she'd only stayed because Corinne had refused to leave without more tuition.

_Precious useful tuition, with Eragon almost dying._ She tugged on another strap so hard it almost snapped in her hand.

If they _had _left earlier, they could have used any of the numerous doors and terraces the Hall was lavishly furnished with. The confusion about Eragon would have been the perfect opportunity. Now they had to use the Tower - as it extended far enough into the sky to help Corinne avoid most of the dangerous downdrafts over the ocean, from the storm – and Sorya did not know whether Eragon had placed wards on the Tower that would warn him if she left.

She scowled as Corinne leapt straight up, flapping her wings heavily to gain height. It was all going wrong, and they'd barely even left this accursed place.

As they approached the huge stone cover off the Tower, Sorya murmured "_Ládrin."_ A white nimbus formed around her outstretched hand, blinding in the gloom, and the dome split smoothly into half down the middle and began to retract. Sorya stopped it as soon as there was the minimum distance needed for Corinne to scrape through.

She did so, and they were out in into the howling night. It wasn't too bad up here, but Sorya still felt anxiety bubbling in her stomach. She wasn't too sure about this, but . . .

_Saphira! _She whipped around to look back at the receding Hall, but there was no massive shadow in pursuit, she could perceive no flames or roars of anger. Sighing in relief, she turned faced forward, raising an arm to shield her face from the stinging drops.

Corinne managed to catch a stream of air blowing steadily west. She glided along unevenly, the inky ocean a fainter thunder far beneath her. As the minutes passed, Sorya gradually managed to relax a little. They could do this. They would make it in time.

It was only five minutes later that she picked up on Corinne's growing uneasiness.

_What is it? _she asked sharply.

_The air is strange. It makes my scales itch. I think we should drop a little lower._

_You will lose the current._

_I'd rather get tired than be fried by lightning!_

_You-_

She broke off, receiving a sharp spike of alarm.

_We're being followed!_

Sorya slewed around. _Where?! Who is it?_

_There . . ._

A black shape seemed to hang behind them for a second, then vanished against the night. At the same instant, a consciousness pressed against her mind.

_Sorya! What in Helzvog's name do you think you're doing?!_

She ground her teeth audibly. Curse and thrice blast that bloody dwarf!

_Turn back, and for heaven's sake drop lower! Are you trying to commit sui-_

She blocked him out and faced forward, pouring energy into Corinne's frame. They now had to outwit their pursuers as well as the storm. Her stomach dropped as they dived gently, still moving at a blistering pace.

Ravûn kept trying to get in; it was insanely distracting. She could feel Corinne trying to block Drëya as well. She gripped the slippery saddle fiercely and gave Corinne even more power, causing them to shoot forward like a stone from a sling.

He managed to get past her guard again – _TURN BACK! YOU WILL – _but she shoved him out. No one would enter her mind if she could help it.

Drëya swooped past them, trying to block their way. Corinne rolled clumsily to avoid her, and as she did so, Sorya suddenly felt every hair on her body stand on end.

Corinne dived instantly, though she was upside down. Sorya was taken by surprise, though, and lost her grip.

She slipped.

She fell, face turned to the clouds.

She heard Corinne's roar, felt her dive almost straight down to reach her. She felt her dragon's immense frustration when Drëya, not realizing what had happened, strove to block her again. She heard her screaming hysterically at Drëya.

She felt the wind tugging at her fingertips, her hair lashing across her face, heavy with water.

She saw the lightning strike, she saw both dragons manage to avoid it.

Fool, fool that she was! Why had she not secured the straps around her legs? Tears of frustration and fear blurred her view of the two dragon above.

She did not scream or flail. It was useless. Corinne could not possibly reach her in time, and neither could Drëya. She did not have the strength to save herself, either. She had given it all to Corinne. The only thing to do was to accept her fate. At least she would not see the water below her when she died; her last sight would be of Corinne . . .

. . . whose piercing anguish cried out to her. But she could do nothing. She sent her all her pent up love and apology, and Corinne's distress grew even greater, for she too now realized that her Rider could not escape death. Sorya faintly heard her desperate keen over the wind. Though it seemed to stab her heart, she wrenched her mind away. Dying was scary enough. Corinne should not have to experience it with her.

She could just see Drëya, diving parallel to Corinne but much faster. Ravûn was a vague shadow on her back, crouching low over her neck.

She closed her eyes. Maybe she would not feel anything. Peace crept into her heart, for the first time in years. Her only regrets were her dragon and her brother. She had tried to do her best, she really had, but it had never seemed to be enough. She had not been able to protect her brother; this mission had succeeded for all of twenty minutes; and she had not treated Corinne as she ought to have . . .

Well, now at last she would be free.

The roar of the storm-tossed ocean was growing louder every second. It seemed that she would drown in the sound itself. It could not be much longer before she hit the water-

She jerked to a halt, her head snapping back. She opened her eyes to see Ravûn and Drëya hovering about a quarter of a league above her. She herself was a foot above the ocean.

Ravûn dropped his outstretched arm, and she fell into the water.

She was only under for a few seconds before a huge paw scooped her out. Coughing and blinking away the stinging salt, heart thudding, she clung to Drëya's toes.

Opening her mind, she found that Corinne was two leagues higher than them, already heading towards the Hall. Too exhausted too even try to sort out the thoughts in her confused mind, she closed her eyes again and slipped into welcoming darkness.

†

Sorya woke with a jolt as she was dumped on the floor of one of the courtyards of the Gardens. She wearily pushed herself up and looked around. Corinne was there, her wings limp, sides heaving, froth flecking her muzzle. She did not respond to Sorya at all. This, of all things, was what made her feel more miserable and guilty than she had ever felt before.

Drëya was in a better condition, but she was angry. Very, very angry. Towering above her, three times as large as Corinne, she snarled menacingly, exposing her sharp fangs. Sorya felt the beginning of a mental assault – _you insufferable, idiotic, disgraceful excuse for a Rider, how _dare _you -_ and crouched involuntarily in preparation to meet it before it was abruptly cut off.

A small shape unfolded next to Drëya - Ravûn, getting up, with one hand on her for support. His head was bowed, and he was panting heavily. Drëya immediately swung around, nuzzling him with her snout. He raised his head, smiling weakly at her, before glancing at Sorya.

"Sorya," his voice was a whisper, "would you mind lighting the Erisdar?"

Avoiding his gaze, she muttered, "_Be bright_," and the Erisdar turned from dull red to various shades of warm yellow.

"Thank you. Now," he drew himself up shakily, "explain to me what you were doing out there."

She made the mistake of meeting his eyes for a second and hastily looked away, ice traveling up her spine to the base of her skull. This was certainly not the over-cheerful, exuberant person she had seen for the past few weeks. This was someone with eyes of flint, unyielding, giving the impression of just barely holding back a tide of fury.

Ashamed, embarrassed, scared, and upset, she made the mistake of snapping at him. "It has nothing to do with you."

"I think it has everything to do with me. My dragon and I nearly died trying to save you."

"I never asked you to! Why couldn't you just keep out of my business?!"

He took a step forward, fists clenched; yet his voice was calm. "That is a childish response, and I will ignore it. Now, tell me where you were going."

She folded her trembling arms. "No."

"Sorya, tell me."

"Make me!"

His eyes blazed suddenly, and he covered the rest of the distance between them with a speed that would have astonished anyone who had seen his condition barely a minute ago. The next second, Sorya felt a terrible blow to the side of her face. She fell to one knee, her head ringing, her lower lip split open. Her mouth filled with blood. In the same instant, he invaded her mind ruthlessly.

Whimpering with the pain, she clutched at her head, trying to get him out. But it was like trying to cut out her own tongue. She was emotionally and physically weak, while he was strong with fury, with no storm to distract him. He went through every single thought and memory for the past two days in thirty seconds while she curled up on the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He stumbled back from her when he was done, breathing heavily. She peered up through her tears to see him staring down at her, pain etched in every line of his face. He opened his mouth-

"RAVÛN!"

Eragon was hurrying towards them, hand on Brisingr's pommel. "What happened? Are you all right?" Saphira followed him, every footstep shaking the floor.

Eragon looked from Ravûn's face to Sorya's to the two exhausted dragons, and his brows furrowed. He chanted a few lines under his breath, and Sorya could feel relief flow through Corinne as her various aches and sprains were relieved. Drëya, too, seemed to relax.

A ward flared to life at the back of her mind, warning her that magic was being used on her. It drained even more energy from her body. "Stop," she croaked, holding up a hand. "My wards . . ."

"Remove them, then. I need to heal you."

"No."

"Sorya, stop being ridiculous and let me heal you."

"I will heal it myself when I have the energy."

Eragon sighed exasperatedly and turned to Ravûn. "All right now?" he asked kindly.

"Yes, Master."

"Good. Now, I can see that you both are exhausted, so get to bed. We will discuss this tomorrow."

He watched them like a hawk as the all staggered to their feet and began to walk. Sorya hated the fact that he was another witness to her shame. Once she got to her feet, she held her head high and stalked right past him to Corinne, ignoring the tremors in her thighs. She gently touched Corinne's side, which elicited no reaction. This hurt her more than if Corinne had pulled away. She tentatively opened her mind.

_Corinne . . .?_

In a voice heavy with weariness, the dragon replied, _I really do not have anything to say to you, Sorya. Leave me be. Go to bed._ Her tone was dull and unemotional. _I will do well enough on my own. _

Sorya choked down a sob. The last thing she wanted to do was leave, yet she could not see that she had any other choice. Head low, she began the long walk to her bed.

She did not even want to think about what the next day would bring.

_And Dornenn . . ._

She broke into a clumsy jog, tears filling her eyes again; away from the scene of her imbecilic blunder, away from the hard eyes of Eragon, away from the grieved eyes of Ravûn.

_I am a failure._

†

Sorya stood in the Bower, her expression pugnacious. A huge space at the intersection of the roads that divided the Garden into its quadrants, it was light, airy, and surrounded by graceful creepers and delicate willows. This late in the evening, it looked more beautiful than usual. The mellow light illuminated the motes of fine dust drifting through the air. The storm had spent itself in the night.

In front of her stood Eragon. Though he wore a simple red tunic, brown leggings and a black cloak, his stern expression gave him all the authority and dignity of a judge – which, in this case, he was. A silver dragon in flight with sapphire eyes was pinned to a fold of his cloak.

To his left stood Osra and to her left stood Zelíe. Both were dressed in green tunics and black leggings. On Eragon's right was Këyal, and to his right, Ravûn. They were dressed in white tunics. All of them wore black or brown cloaks. Their swords were planted in the earth, and their hands rested on the pommels.

Behind each one lay his or her dragon. They were all watching her unwaveringly. All together, they formed a gentle curve. And she was their focus.

Far to her right sat Corinne, who did not look at her at all, and maintained only the slightest thread of contact between them.

"Sorya." Since when had Eragon's voice been this deep?

"Last night, you tried to leave the Hall in the middle of a very dangerous storm. Had Ravûn not followed you and stopped you, you would have certainly died, for my wards did not wake me anywhere near soon enough to halt you or save you.

"You endangered your life as well as the life of your dragon, Corinne. This is the crime for which you are to be put on trial by your peers. You do not seem to have realized your importance to the continent of Alagaësia. We will endeavor to discover if your actions were purposeful, naïve, or simply careless, and to bring home to you the responsibility of the position you occupy as a Rider."

Sorya did not speak. She returned Eragon's hard gaze with equal intensity.

He nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. "Very well, then. Let us begin.

"Sorya, daughter of Madrí!" His voice rang out. "Did you attempt to leave the Hall last night, having taken provisions from the kitchen, during a heavy storm?"

Her voice was just as clear as his. "Yes."

"Was it on your own initiative?"

"Yes."

"Were you fully aware that the storm might have proven fatal for yourself as well as Corinne?"

"Yes."

"What was your destination?"

"Galfni."

"Galfni being the city you used to reside in?"

"Yes."

"Why did you try to leave?"

She was silent.

"Sorya. If you do not answer, the information we seek will be wrested from your mind."

Her voice was very soft now. "You need not."

"I beg pardon?"

"You need not! It has already been done for you."

Eragon was frowning now. "I don't-"

Corinne cut in, her mental voice back to its customary calm and clarity. _If I may, ebrithil . . . I can provide any information you seek. _Her voice was broadcasted to them all.

Osra spoke now. "You will provide us with information Sorya wishes to withhold?"

_At present, her judgement is quite clouded. I judge it to be in her best interests to trust her fellow Riders._

Sorya gritted her teeth. This was revenge, she knew it. She could not stop Corinne, either.

"Very well. Tell us, please, Corinne." Eragon's voice lost the hard edge it had when he spoke to Sorya.

_We were travelling to Galfni to try and help Sorya's younger brother, Dornenn. _They received a fleeting picture of a dwarven youth with a head of fluffy red-brown hair, laughing eyes, and a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

"Why did Dornenn need help?" Këyal enquired.

_Sorya and Dornenn are orphans. Their father died in the siege of Feinster, where he sacrificed his life so that ten others of Dûrgrimst Vrenshrrgn might escape. Since their father's death, they were taken care of by his cousin, their uncle, as well as their mother. _

They all saw a dwarf woman very much like Dornenn, with laughing eyes and a kind face. She resembled Sorya only in her vivid red hair and creamy skin.

_However, their mother died nearly two years ago – that is to say, four years after the war. Sorya's uncle is the only guardian she has left._

All those listening caught a small charge of negative feelings from Corinne, as well as some from the storm swirling within Sorya. Since they were all in contact with Corinne, they could all sense each other's feelings somewhat; thus they were aware of the emotions behind Sorya's stony mask.

_As this uncle has supported the children of a war hero for two years, he is to be honored by the Nien Otho ceremony. It is a small function where he will receive thanks for service to the family of a clan hero and custody of Dornenn until the boy is nine- and twenty years of age. We were trying to prevent this from taking place. It is to occur in twelve days._

A blaze of hatred from Sorya, hastily suppressed, with a faint streak of desperation behind it, like a blade through butter, reached them.  
"Why?" Osra looked baffled. Ravûn, however, glared at his boots.

_Because-_

_Corinne! Stop, please! I'll tell them myself, I swear!_

They all jerked out of their immersion in Corinne's narrative to see Sorya glaring at Corinne with tears in her eyes. She took a shuddering breath and spoke.

"I did not want my uncle to obtain custody of my brother because he will then be entitled to a very handsome annual allowance to care for him. I did not want him to receive thanks from Íorûnn because the _last _thing he has done is take care of my family! He has hurt us and betrayed us! My father trusted him, _trusted him_ to keep us safe, unharmed, and yet- and yet-"

"He did not." Ravûn looked up. "He is a drunk. He is violent. He beats you and Dornenn. And your mother . . ." He frowned slightly, as though concentrating. "I cannot quite-"

"Believe me, you do not-ˮ She broke off and closed her eyes, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "You do not want to know what he did to my mother. He . . . he had always envied my father his wife. And when he had her at his mercy, he took full advantage of his situation."

Horror rippled across the face of every Rider standing there.

Sorya opened her eyes, trying to blink the tears out of them. "He was the reason she died. The wounds he dealt her, both mental and physical, were too much for her to bear. She had always protected us when she was alive. After her death, it was my responsibility to protect my brother." She rolled her left sleeve up, revealing an arm that was almost completely covered with bruises, and grinned savagely through her tears. "He never got to him. Not once in two years.

"But then I had to go and become a bloody Rider." She flicked her sleeve back down and glared at Eragon. "My brother has been left to that demon's mercy for the better part of two months; and I can assure you that my brother must have suffered more in these two months than I have in two years.

"Are you satisfied now, _Shadeslayer_? Was I naïve, reckless, or just stupid? Have you decided?"

Eragon returned her glare, even as she had returned his. "All of them, Sorya."

She stared at him as though she could not believe her ears. "_What?!_"

"Naïve to believe you could make it to Galfni with five days' worth of provisions. Reckless to attempt it in that storm. And stupid to risk the life of your dragon in the process. Is she not the most precious thing you have ever received? Is not the bond you share priceless? How could you risk her life like that?"

"I do not control her! She is an intelligent being! You think I coerced her into it? She did it of her own free will!"

"Oh, yes? What choice did she have? Anyone can see the love you have for your brother. She is your dragon, and you her Rider! She is as much a part of you as any person could possibly be. How could she not have helped you? Did you ever stop to think how she felt about it? How old are you, Corinne?"

Corinne looked as subdued as it was possible for a dragon to be. _Four months old, ebrithil._

"From the moment she hatched, you were all she had, Sorya. You are who she loves more than anyone or anything else. Can you imagine how she felt when she realized her Rider was furious at her existence? Do you not see that by making her do this, you have effectively chosen your brother over your dragon? Did you never realise that?"

Sorya looked as though he had slapped her. Faint tears began to glimmer in her eyes once more. "No, she never – I didn't mean-"

She turned to Corinne and spoke in the ancient language. _Is this true? Is he right?_

The white dragon avoided her eyes.

_Answer me!_ It was a pleading, tumultuous tendril of thought, ink-black with remorse and pain.

_Yes, _she replied softly, reluctantly. _It is._

Sorya felt like she had when she'd seen Ravûn furious with her. Ice tingled up her spine and her stomach turned over. Her shoulders slumped. She'd had an idea of it, of course, but Corinne had never said anything, and she'd been so, so scared for her brother . . . she'd never meant to hurt Corinne. She loved her, how could she not? And now she was siding with Eragon, and . . . and . . .

Sorya had never felt so alone in her whole life.

"Well . . . " she said quietly. "It seems that I've set a record. I've failed in four months. Even Galbatorix made a better Rider than I, did he not? Before he went mad?"

Eragon said nothing. He actually seemed rather shocked at his earlier outburst, but Sorya did not notice that.

"I would like to make something clear, though. I regret only hurting Corinne. I would do the rest of it over again in a heartbeat. For your information, Argetlam, I do love Corinne. But to leave my brother to my uncle's mercy is impossible."

"I did ask you to do so, Sorya."

"I do not hear you suggesting anything else." There was no defiance to the words, none of the fire they were used to seeing in her eyes. It was a simple, weary statement.

"Why not take the matter to Íorûnn? Are there no courts in Dûrgrimst Vrenshrrgn to deal with matters of this sort?"

"Why would I advertise something like this? And who would believe me?"

"It is better than suffering in silence."

"You-" She stopped with a short sigh and closed her eyes again. She just did not have the energy to argue. Her next words were almost whispers. "Do as you wish. I can hardly stop you . . . May I leave now? What is the verdict?"

She stood like a statue while the five of them discussed in hushed voices, staring at nothing. It was only a few minutes later that they turned to her and Zelíe announced, "Sorya, we have arrived at a decision. You are to explain to Íorûnn the situation and request her for help. You are to swear in the ancient language that you will not go beyond five leagues from the Hall without permission from Master Eragon. You are also to devote at least two hours a day to Corinne, so that you may arrive at a better understanding with her. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Then you can go."

She did so, quickly. She was not sure if she would start crying again, and she had no wish to make a spectacle of herself. Corinne, after some hesitation, followed her.

Two people watched her go in some perturbation. One was Eragon, who was wondering if he had handled that situation very well.

The other was Ravûn, who was miserably thinking that he needed to apologize to her as soon as possible.


	14. Chapter 13: Miscellaneous interactions

Sorya sat nestled in the hollow of Corinne's neck, staring at her tightly clasped hands, her mind full of apprehension. Butterflies filled her stomach.

_It will be all right, Sorya. Do not worry._

_Mm. Thank you for coming. Helzvog knows I don't deserve-_

_Don't start with that again. I've received enough apologies from you to last a lifetime._

_But-_

Corinne looked at her with one large, stern eye._ Yes, you hurt me, Sorya, but is done now. Guilt will change nothing. Besides, we are better for it now, are we not?_

_Corinne-_

_Are we not?_

_Not . . . not _quite_ yet . . . but I think we will be._

_Yes, little one, we will be. Master Eragon has only your interests at heart, you know. This is for the best._

_If you say so._

_I do. _She nuzzled her gently. Sorya gave her a brief flicker of a smile, then returned to staring at her hands.

Eragon was in the mirror room right now, getting into contact with Íorûnn. She did not know when she would be called in; she had been waitingout here for about half an hour now.

After five more minutes, she started to tap her fingers irritably.

After ten more minutes, she was nibbling ferociously on her nails.

After fifteen more minutes, she was pacing the corridor.

After twenty minutes-

Ravûn turned up.

"Derûndânn, Sorya, Corinne."

Sorya eyed him uncertainly. She was not at all sure what she felt towards him. On one hand, he had meddled in her affairs in the most _irritating _fashion, his patronizing behaviour made her feel like a child, he had invaded her mind, and he had given her a split lip.

On the other hand . . . she had deserved the split lip. She would be the first to admit that. And now it seemed that Dornenn might be removed from her uncle's custody forever. And he _had _been trying to help her . . . and she _had_ made him very angry . . .

. . . and she did not want to be lowered – well, lowered further- in his eyes. Why, she could not articulate. But she did not want to feel ashamed every time she saw him.

"Derûndânn, Ravûn."

_Der__û__nd__â__nn, Ravûn._

Ravûn smiled at Corinne, and then addressed Sorya.

"**Master Eragon has not called you yet**?"

"**No**." He was talking perfectly easily; it was making her more nervous, even though he was speaking in their native tongue.

"Mmm**. Well, I just came here to apologize.**"

Sorya blinked.

"_I'm sorry for hitting you, and I'm sorry for invading your mind. It was wrong of me to disrespect your privacy. I offer you my most sincere apologies, and I hope you can forgive me."_

Her knowledge of the ancient language was not as extensive or formal as his, but she caught the gist of it. Startled and disconcerted, she blurted out her thoughts. _"I can't. I mean, I am not angry, so I can't forgive you. I . . . I deserved what you did."_

"_Yes, you did," _he said pleasantly.

What?!

The corner of his mouth quirked up at her indignant expression. He reverted to Dwarfish -

"**You yourself know that you did. I don't dispute it. But for **_**me**_** to have done that was inexcusable. I have no authority over you.**"

"**So you don't care that you hurt me, you only care because it offends your sense of- of **_**righteousness**_**?**"

"**Well, yes**."

She pinned him with an aggrieved eye. "**It's not very nice to say that to my face, is it?**"

"**I thought of you as a person who appreciates honesty and straightforward speaking. Was I wrong?**"

Urgh. He was such a headache to deal with. Especially because he always seemed to be right.

"**No, damn you**," she growled.

His slight smile grew into a grin as she huffed and slumped against Corinne.

"**Ah, do not be so cross, Sorya. I really am sorry."**

"Oeí, oeí,**" **she muttered, refusing to look at him. "**I know."**

He looked down at her for a minute while she fiddled with her fingers.

"Sorya**.**"

She looked up, still a little upset.

He put his head slightly on the side and looked at her, contrition in his frank gaze.

"**Friends? Please?**"

She met his gaze hesitantly. She hadn't exactly had many friends . . .

. . . well, _any_ friends . . .

"Uhhh . . . **okay.**"

He grinned again. "Yeah?"

She smiled a little at his evident delight. "Yeah."

"**Brilliant. Tell how that**-" he waved at the door, " – **goes, okay**?"

"**Okay.**"

"**Okay. Bye.**"

"**Bye.**"

Sorya watched him go with a reflective gaze, the smile lingering on her lips. Somehow, she felt a little better.

Maybe she'd like having friends.

" . . . so she tried to leave the Hall in the middle of the worst thunderstorm I've ever seen with a couple of paltry saddlebags and a dragon who is barely five months old. If Ravûn had not been there, she would have very definitely been killed, along with Corinne."

Roran's brow was creased. "Are they all right?"

"Fine, fine. They were mainly tired . . . Corinne had snapped a ligament."

"When was this?"

"Two days ago."

"How did Ravûn know she was leaving?"

"He was standing on one of the terraces and saw them. Thank goodness Corinne is colored white."

"Mmm. She will have learned a sharp lesson from this, I don't doubt."

"Aye. We convened a very _serious_ court last evening."

Roran's serious brown eyes remained lost in abstraction for a few moments, and then returned his gaze to Eragon's face, his expression easing. "Well, what's done is done, eh? I'm sure she will make a better Rider for this adventure."

"I suppose."

"What's wrong, then?"

"I . . . was not fair to her. When she came here, I noticed that she was angry and told myself to discover the cause, but ended up doing nothing. Even when she was disrespectful to me, I did not think about why. I simply allowed my wounded pride to blind me. I made no secret of my displeasure to her, which drove her even further away. . . I am supposed to be an impartial and just teacher." His mouth twisted. "I thought I was succeeding. Sorya is not the only one who has learned a sharp lesson."

Roran looked at him thoughtfully. "Weren't you poisoned just recently? A month ago, wasn't it? How could you teach?"

Eragon waved an impatient hand. "I've been fine for these past two weeks. The only reason I haven't begun classes is because Arya made me promise not to until she was convinced I was recovered."

Roran smiled to himself.

"Anyway, then, at the court, I didn't even _try_ for diplomacy or even kindness. I was so angry, and I was so sure that she was just an unreasonable rebel. I paraded her mistakes in front of the older four and their dragons. I don't know if she will ever trust me as a student should trust her teacher, as I trusted Oromis and Brom."

Seeing that he had talked himself out, Roran spoke. "I don't think the case is as hopeless as you think. Haven't you ever made your teachers angry?"

Eragon winced. "You really don't want to know, believe me." He thought of the Urgals that had escaped him with Brom, of magical sparring with Oromis, and especially of yelling at Oromis about Murtagh.

Roran smiled. "That bad?"

"Worse."

"Well, my point is, your teachers were all old and experienced and what have you, whereas you have only just passed four-and-twenty years. Be guided by their memories and how they treated you, but also remember that you cannot be as wise as they were. They forgave you because they understood that you were young. You did not do the same for Sorya, which was a mistake, but you will learn from it now, yes? Mistakes are not sins."

"But my mistake could have led to her death!"

"But it didn't. And it won't happen again, will it?"

"But I cannot plead ignorance as my excuse. The Eldunarya have given me more knowledge than I know what to do with. What is the use of that if I cannot convert that knowledge to wisdom?"

"Will you stop moaning! Are you going to make amends with Sorya or keep berating yourself?"

"Okay, okay, I get the message!"

"I should think so."

Eragon grunted. "Thank you."

Roran smiled slightly. "You're welcome."

"Where's Katrina?"

"Gerand has got a rash and a bit of a fever. She's gone to talk to Gertrude."

"Mm. How does Ismira like her brother?"

"She didn't think very much of him until he chewed on her doll. Then she had quite a lot to say."

Eragon snorted with amusement. "The daughter of Roran Stronghammer has a doll? I expected her to be wielding a sword by now."

Roran made a face. "She's only six. And Katrina is the one who gave it to her."

"Mmm." He stretched. "I'd better go if I want to catch Orik. Same time next week?"

"Yes. Take care of yourself, all right? Don't get hit by anymore poisonous arrows."

"You too, Roran. Give my love to Katrina and Ismira and Gerand."

"Of course. Farewell."

"Farewell."

Eragon sighed as Roran's image faded from the mirror. Their conversations always made him feel homesick.

He turned to a mirror with a silver frame and the sign of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum carved on top, casting the necessary spell. An image of an empty stone room with a single luxurious chair and tasteful tapestries on the walls came into view.

Eragon settled into his own chair and waited. He, Orik, Arya, Nasuada, Murtagh, Orrin, Katrina, and Roran all wore a kind of silver band that would alert them if someone tried to mirror-call. A different carving on the band would glow to indicate who the person was – a crown for Murtagh or Nasuada, a rose for Orik, a leaf for Arya, a hammer for Roran or Katrina, a sword for Orrin, and a dragon for Eragon. Underneath each of these identity indicators was a vertical line and a cross. If the person being contacted touched the line, a chip of green agate set in the conference mirror would glow, indicating that they were aware of the call and were on their way. If they touched the cross, a chip of red agate would glow, indicating that they could not talk at that moment.

The green chip on Eragon's mirror soon glowed to life, and Orik entered the room not ten minutes later.

"Derûndânn, Eragon," he rumbled, his dark eyes twinkling.

"Derûndânn, Orik."

"This is a surprise; you contacted me not four days ago. Has something happened?"

"Indeed it has. It concerns Sorya."

"Sorya?" Orik frowned slightly. "What has she done?"

"It is a long story. Shall I call her in?"

"Of course."

Eragon walked to the door and pulled it open. "Sorya."

"Yes?" She got up and came towards him. He could see the strain in her eyes.

He gave her as kind and reassuring a smile as he could manage. "King Orik is there now. Are you all right with telling him about the circumstances?"

"King Orik? I thought only Grimstborith Íorûnn would get to know."

"It is necessary. Besides, he has the right, does he not?"

Sorya hesitated and looked back at Corinne, who blinked slowly. She seemed to be reassured, for she turned back to him with a look of determination. "Yes, Master."

"Come, then." He went to place a hand on her shoulder to usher her into the room, then hesitated.

"Sorya?" She looked up stiffly.

"I'm aware that I have not been fair to you. I've not been a good teacher, let alone a good mentor. I'm sorry for that, and I want you to know that I will try to do better."

She looked very startled; she avoided his gaze, trying to compose a reply.

"That's . . . that's very kind of you, Argetlam. Um . . . I know that I was . . . well, not exactly a model student. I will try to do better as well."

Eragon strongly suspected that Corinne had a hand in that speech, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that Sorya was willing to do what she had said.

"Thank you," he smiled. "It is good of you to say that. I hope that we will become better friends soon."

She smiled broadly at that, enjoying some private joke. Eragon was surprised; he'd never seen her smile before this. It quite transformed her face.

"I hope so too, Master."

He smiled again. "Good." He gestured for her to go in. Her smile faded somewhat, but he noted with pleasure that her stiffness towards him had abated.

She entered the room and dropped a small curtsey when she saw Orik. "Derûndânn, Orik könungr."Eragon followed behind.

"Derûndânn, **child. What mischief have you been up to, then?**"

She cast a quick glance at Eragon, not sure about what – or how much- to say. "**Well . . . I tried to go home.**"

Orik frowned and looked puzzled. "**Why did you do such a thing? Are you not happy at the Hall?**"

"**N-no, Orik King, I was not – because my brother is in the care of a very unfit guardian who hurts him, and the Heart Faith ceremony is to take place it is completed, Dornenn will be trapped with an abusive guardian for four more years without me to protect him. I wanted to prevent the ceremony from taking place.**"

Orik blinked. So did Eragon. That was very frank, even for her.

"**I see**," Orik said eventually His frown grew more pronounced. "**What do you plan to do now?**"

"**Master Eragon said that to lay the whole before ****Í****or****û****nn is the best course of action.**"

"**Do you not agree?**"

"**It is not for me to say whether I agree or not. My judgement is clouded on this issue. Master Eragon is - is better fitted to decide what to do.**"

Eragon was now very surprised. Her words were colorless and slightly strangled, as though they stuck in her throat, but she did say them. And he could tell that she meant them.

"**Oh?**"Orik looked at her reflectively. "**It seems to me that you've been learning quite fast.**"

Sorya said nothing.

Orik continued, "**I understand why you did what you did, Sorya, but do not ever do such a foolhardy thing again. Eragon is more than capable of helping you; that is something you must understand very clearly. As your teacher, he is responsible for you, and you answer to him. If you have a problem, go to him. Am I understood?**"

"**Yes, King Orik.**"

"**Good. Well, Eragon, I suppose you called to talk to ****Í****or****û****nn?**"

"**If it please you, sire.**"

The twinkle returned to Orik's eyes at Eragon's exaggerated form of address. "**Very well. I will talk to her, but at present she is in Galfni, preparing for the Heart Faith ceremony. I do not know when she will be able to contact you.**"

"**We will await her pleasure.**"

"**As you wish. Was there anything else?**"

"**No.**"

"**Take care, then, brother. And stay out of trouble, young one.**" His voice was stern, but his eyes were kind. "**Do not plague mine hearth brother, eh?"**

"**Yes, King Orik.**"

"**Farewell, then, both of you.**"

"**Farewell**"**, **they chorused.

His image faded from the mirror.

"That went better than I expected," he said thoughtfully**.**___And faster too, with a minimum of fuss. Thank goodnesss for that._

"Master?"

"Yes?'

"How do you speak Dwarfish so well?"

"Oh, I had a lot of free time on my hands before the new Riders turned up. Besides, I am technically a dwarf, yes? I thought I should earn the name."

"Oh."

"By the way, if it makes a difference . . . I'm proud of you."

"For what?"

"Uhhh-" he gave her a slightly rueful smile. "I'm not entirely sure? For admitting your mistakes, I suppose. And taking my advice. And trusting me that your brother will be taken care of."

She looked confused. "That doesn't sound like much."

"I know. It's hard for me to explain with words." He opened the door for her. "Would you mind calling Akhtar, Dara, and Caspian to the eastern corridor on the ground floor, please?"

"Of course. Thank you, Master."

He nodded and watched as she walked off, Corinne by her side.

Ravûn approached the Gardens from the southern corridor. As he proceeded up the wide white marble path, he evaluated the progress of the cotton fields on his right side with an experienced eye. The rains would end very soon – he rather thought today would be the last shower of the season – and cotton was by far the best material for the sweltering summer that would soon follow, though it did not bear up very well under the constant wear and tear in the life of a Rider.

On his left was the sprawling Maze, covering an area of about three square leagues. He decided to enter. He had nothing else to do except wait for Sorya's interview to be over, and he hadn't been there for a while. Besides, if he got stuck, he could always fly out.

_Isn't that cheating?_

_No, it's not, Drëya. You can't call it cheating if it's an unsolvable maze._

_Didn't Këyal solve it?_

_He's a bloody elf. Is there anything they can't do?_

_Speciesist._

_Well, only this elf, not others. _

She made a sceptical sound.

He smiled to himself. _Go back to your sunbath, delva._

He felt her stretch and relax. She was on a terrace in the northern wing of the Hall. She'd been very reluctant about him apologising to Sorya - she felt hat she had gotten what she had deserved - but had finally let him have his way.

He wandered though it for about twenty minutes. Not really trying to find his way around, just walking. It was like a jungle. Most of the others preferred the light and pretty pleasure garden in the northwestern quadrant, but the Maze always seemed to remind him of how beautiful and unstoppable nature could be, even when tamed.

After the aforesaid twenty minutes, he came up to a bench in a narrow tunnel with thickly interweaving branches overhead. Dara was sitting on it, head in her hands. A steady stream of curse words issued from her mouth, words that made even him blush.

"Uh, Dara?"

She looked up. "Oh, thank the gods! I thought I would be lost in here forever!"

"Where's Celesté?"

"Waiting for me at the entrance. She's claustrophobic, can't stand any space that doesn't let her spread her wings."

"Oh. Can't you fly out?"

She gave him an odd look. "I can't use magic."

"Wh- Oh. Yes." He'd forgotten that Riders in training were not told that they could use magic until they discovered it on their own. He hastily tried to cover up his mistake. "It's just that Sorya had wards and everything, so I assumed . . ."

"Sorya could use magic even before she was a Rider."

"Oh? I see."

"Were you going to stay?" she asked.

"Well, yes. I'd like it if you stayed as well." He gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm not really a solitary person."

"I know. I don't mind staying now, seeing as you're here."

He sat down next to her an arranged his limbs comfortably. "That was some impressive cursing."

"Heh. You pick it up quite fast, at Lighthaven."

"That is your home, yes? What is it like?"

"Oh, a freezing little town north of Ceunon. Practically an extended slum. I didn't really live _in_ it, my father worked as a woodcutter about a league to the west of it. We lived at the very edge of Du Weldenvarden. He would have preferred farming to cutting wood, but there's precious little you can farm when ten months out of the twelve you barely have sunlight."

"Why live in Lighthaven, then?"

"My mother. He met her there, she died there. All his memories of her are centred around there. He couldn't bring himself to leave."

"Oh." He hesitated, not sure what to say. "He must be quite lonely without you, now."

"Aye." She did not seem to want to discuss the matter further, but apparently felt that she should make some effort at conversation in return, for she asked, "What about your family?"

"I don't have a family."

She frowned. "I don't understand."

He sighed. "My clan is Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, Dara. My family were not happy that I became a Rider, to put it mildly. I was disowned."

"Oh." She seemed subdued. "But . . . then how did you touch Drëya's egg?"

"Queen Arya was in Tarnag with the eggs. I'd left for Tarnag early that morning to see if I could get supplies from somewhere, somehow. Our entire clan was banished, no? So we were scrounging food off the land. My family had been very influential before the banishment, very close to Vermûnd. They would not hear of renouncing him . . . Anyway, I'd gone to Tarnag to see if I could find supplies- or steal them, if I had to. I was not alone in that. Mine clan has been reduced to nothing more than a group of thieves.

"It was my first time at Tarnag, and I was wandering the streets, gaping at the glory like the young fool I was. I did not notice the excitement that day, and I was too slow to avoid the knurlan from the Rider's Council. You know them, I think? Part of the network to assist with rebuilding the Riders? They have members from every race- yes. Well, they came, scouring the streets for people to touch the egg. No one knew whether the egg would hatch for a young knurla or an old one, but they were especially interested in those under the age of three-score years, as in the past dragons usually had favoured young ones. They dragged me to the egg. I thought I could just tap it and escape, but, obviously, I did not. When I returned home with the gedwey ignasia, I was thrown out then and there."

Dara had been listening quietly to this recital. Now she said, "I'm sorry for asking, Ravûn. It must have awakened painful memories for you."

"Ah, it is no matter. The memories have lost their sting." He was lying, but he knew that he was convincing enough that she believed him.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, he thought of a new topic.

"How is your protégé?"

"My what?"

"The person you are taking care of. Your ward."

"My ward? Oh, Këyal?"

"Oeí."

"Oh, he's fine. He's still a bit shy. He's never had to try and make friends before, and of course it's harder seeing as he's deliberately alienated you and Osra and Zelíe."

"You know, I still haven't understood why you're so interested in his social life. It's not like he was kind to you; he called you halfbreed and nearly strangled you!"

Dara gave him an annoyed look. "How did you know that?"

"Dragons gossip like nothing on earth."

"Oh? I'd've thought they'd have too much pride for that."

"You would think so. But usually their curiosity overrules their pride. Anyway, why are you trying to help him?"

"Because I know what he is really like, and I sympathise with him. You don't know why he did what he did."

"And you do? Why did he suddenly choose to confide in you, instead of spitting on you for diluting the most noble blood of the elves or some such dragondung?"

"Well, I kind of forced his confidence . . ."

Ravûn stared at her in disbelief. The words 'How' and 'why' wrestled for dominance on his tongue. Dara, correctly interpreting his expression, sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

"I was interested in him, okay? He was the youngest elf I'd seen. And I thought he would be someone to talk to about my, you know, elven heritage. I grew up near a town where the richest person could barely afford to buy a pig to eat once a month. You think many people were interested in culture? The only literate person was the soothsayer. And then Celesté hatched for me, and I saw Teirm and Feinster and Illirea and met people who talked about things I'd never dreamed of and I heard about the elves who could do absolutely anything with magic and who could show you visions of unbearable allure and – well, you get the idea. I was suddenly proud of my ancestry, of my mother. Before, all my shiny hair had got me was wolf whistles and bawdy comments from the boys in town. I was so looking forward to coming here, to learning from Eragon Shadeslayer himself, to meeting elves who could help me learn more about my heritage. But then I came here and had that delightful reunion with my grandmother. It was like dumping a bucket of cold water over me. I was reminded, again, that I am neither human not el, that. I am an outcast in both worlds. I thought that Këyal would be the only person who might sympathise with me, who might be able to tell me about elves and make me feel accepted; far better than any of the elder elves, certainly. And . . . well, he kind of fascinated me."

She slowed down a little bit as she paused to think. "I followed him around a bit – enough for him to get irritated. I think I surprised him as well. Everyone else just assumed that he was an intolerant bastard and left him alone. No one seemed interested in him except for me. And then . . . well, I was determined to find out why he was so intolerant, because he didn't seem stupid enough to discriminate based on events that occurred fifty-odd years ago. And he ended up telling me. And it was a pretty good reason, one that he had no control over. I found that, if I ignored that side of his character, he was an intelligent, compassionate, and honest person."

Ravûn listened to this with every appearance of scepticism. "Is he now? And what was his wonderful reason?"

She hesitated. "It's not something that he would want me to reveal without permission. But I promise you, he's not as bad as you think he is." She laid her hand over his and looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Just give him a chance."

Ravûn squirmed. He hated to let her down, but he hated Këyal even more.

"I'm sorry, Dara, but you don't know what he's been like for the past three years. You've barely been talking to him for a month. It's not that I don't believe you, it's just that-"

She sat up straight and removed her hand from his, a disquieting look in her eyes. "Overwhelming experience says otherwise?"

"Well, yes."

She was quiet for a second, and then rapped out, "Tell me, Ravûn, where did you come from just now?"

"My room . . . ?"

"Did you talk to anyone on the way?"

"Yes, Sorya."

"What did you say?"

"I apologised for hitting her."

"Why?"

"Because I shouldn't have!"

"Why? She is surly, disagreeable, and _incredibly _annoying. She only opens her mouth to snap at us. She treats us all like we are below her notice. Aki, Cas and I have travelled with her for months. We would all say she had it coming to her."

"But she had a reason for being like that!"

"Which is?"

"She- she wouldn't want me to-"

"I know her better than you, though don't I? And _I_ say it's not worth trying to be friendly."

Ravûn's look of utter confusion quickly turned into lively amusement.

"All right, all right. I understand your point. So how about a deal?" He leaned forward. "I'll talk to your socially inept ward if you will talk to mine."

Dara grinned. "Fine by me, Nightrider."

He blinked. "What?"

"That's your name. Aki was very pleased with himself for coming up with that one. He'd been racking his brains before, trying to think of a really good one for you."

Ravûn laughed then, a hearty bellow that Horst would not have disdained to produce. "Nightrider!" he spluttered, wiping tears from his eyes. "Oh, sweet Kilf, of all the names to come up with!"

Dara crossed her arms, trying to look stern but miserably failing. "What is so amusing about that? You're Nightrider, Këyal is Leafblade, I'm Wildcat, Kitai is Falconeye - everyone has a name. "

He broke out into a series of guffaws. "It's – not that! I'm – I can't-"

"You're _what_?"

"I'm - afraid of the dark!" he choked, and once more abandoned himself to mirth.

Dara laughed as well, both out of sympathy and because of the ridiculousness of the situation. Only when it started to rain did they calm down a little.

"C- come on," Ravûn hiccupped. "We should leave. The T-tower won't be c-closed."

"The p-plants need the rain?"

"Yes. Audr!"

They both shot upwards, right into thorny branches. Ravun lost control of the magic and they both dropped straight down onto the marble path.

"Oww," they groaned in unison, suddenly sobered. Dara gingerly massaged the shoulder she'd landed on. "Might be an idea to find a path that's clear overhead, hmm?"

"There's one just around that corner," Ravûn said. They limped there and then Ravûn lifted them again. They hovered high above the Maze for a heartstopping second, and then he ungracefully set them down in the Bower.

"Sorry, I don't have much fine control over my magic, " Ravûn said apologetically.

Dara slowly rose, groaning. "I never would have guessed."

He was about to make a suitably snappy reply when he heard a shout.

"Daraaaa! Master Eragon wants you in the eastern corridor now!" Sorya yelled from some distance away.

Dara answered with a wry look at Ravun, "Coming!"

She headed off to the eastern corridor. Ravûn followed her; he had nowhere else to be, anyway.

The path led through the two quadrants holding fruit, vegetable, rice, wheat and cotton to the cavernous eastern corridor. All the corridors off the Gardens were gigantic. It triggered Ravûn's agoraphobia every time.

Master was sitting on one of the numerous benches that lined the path, just under the arch that marked the beginning of the corridor. Caspian and Akhtar were already there.

"Ah, Dara. Come, sit. You too, Sorya."

Dara took a seat next to Caspian, who acknowledged her with a pleasant smile. Sorya sat at a little distance from the other three.

"You will stay, Ravûn?" Eragon lifted an eyebrow.

"Not if you do not wish me to, master."

Eragon waved a hand. "It is not an important matter. You are quite welcome to listen." Ravûn nodded and sat next by Sorya.

"Ahem." Eragon surveyed them all and took a deep breath before speaking, "I would like to talk to you all formally about your training. I'm sure the others would have given you some idea of how things are done at the Hall, but I would like to make the picture clear. I should have done this some time ago, but I wanted to spend time with the king and queen, and then, of course, there was my accident.

"So. By the time you leave here you must be reasonably proficient with most any weapon and in any language spoken by any races in Alagaësia. This is the practical side of your education. On the theoretical side, you will learn about mathematics, philosophy, history, geography, science, and about the various plants and animals of Alagaësia; and you will learn how to think. That is, you will be introduced to and encouraged to think about various morals and societies, and learn to apply the powers you have been gifted with in an appropriate manner. Being a strong Rider is something anyone may be with enough practice, but being a wise and well-loved one is something entirely different. Am I clear?"

Satisfied with the mumbled chorus of "Yes, master," he continued, "Another very important thing that you will learn is how to control your mind and how to fight with it. These three form the major facets of your education here. I would like you all to work your hardest, for Alagaësia needs you as soon as may be.

"Monday is devoted to sparring, Tuesday to mind control, Wednesday to the languages - and as we progress, the sciences and philosophy - Thursday again to sparring, and Friday again to languages. It may seem a little monotonous, but as you progress your timetable will change and you will also find a great deal of variety in what you learn. On Saturday you will be tested on everything learned during the week, and Sunday is yours. You are also expected to help with any and all chores around the Hall-from taking care of the crops to cooking dinner. If any of the elves requests you to do something, please obey them without demur. Saphira will be speaking to your dragons soon. They will have a separate timetable except for Tuesday and Wednesday, when they will study with you. Any questions?"

"No Master!" they chorused.

"Good. Well, that is all I wanted to say to you, and welcome to the Hall of the Riders!" He smiled around at them as he stood. "I hope it will seem like a home to you before long, and I hope you will be happy. If you have any problems, please let me know, or at least seek the help of one of the older Riders. All right?"

They all nodded. "Very well. We will begin tomorrow, an hour after sunrise." He bowed slightly and walked off, leaving them to murmur amongst themselves.

Kitai was heading to the training room when he heard the clack of boots on the corridor behind him.

"Kitai!" Eragon called.

He turned, wondering why he was being hailed. "Yes, master?"

"Are you busy right now? I would like to talk to you."

He was somewhat surprised. "Of course. I was just going to have an hour's practice with the axe."

Eragon gestured to the corridor he wished to take, and Kitai easily fell into step with him.

"I see. Have you improved at using the axe?" Eragon asked.

"A little. It just feels clumsy to me. I much prefer a dagger, or even a lance. "

'You prefer using a keen blade, in effect."

"Yes. My style is not the style required to wield an axe."

"But don't you think there is something to be said for the power of an axe or mace?"

"I suppose, yes, but you tire faster as well. A sharp blade allows you to pierce skin and muscle with an ease that is unparalleled by any other weapon. You learn fight deftly and lightly. And besides, I know you prefer the blade as well, master!"

Eragon laughed a little. "Why, I am playing devil's advocate. Prove to me why the blade is better."

Thus discussing the relative merits of various weapons, they reached Eragon's private study. It was a large, circular room was lined with hundreds of scrolls. In the center was a handsome desk with various pigeonholes for quills, charcoal, wax, paper and ink. His seal- a dragon, of course - was accorded pride of place in a square, velvet lined hole, the top of which fit so seamlessly into the surface of the desk that the contours of the lid of the box were indiscernible. Two cane chairs were in front of the desk and a heavier chair was behind it. A ladder on wheels led to a movable balcony that could be moved around the circumference on the room so that once one had climbed into it, one could access any scroll on any level just by moving the balcony by means of a simple pulley mechanism. It was carved in a myriad of patterns on the outside and held a plush chair. An Erisdar dangled from the delicate arch curving over it; it resembled nothing more than an airy nest. Kitai looked at it with an appreciative eye. He liked tinkering with mechanical devices of any kind, and this was one of his favourites. He remembered, with a rush of embarrassment, how he had sneaked in one day and made the contraption whirl around so fast that he had damn near broken it. Master had not been pleased at all.

Pushing the unwelcome memory out of his mind, he settled into a chair in front of the desk and waited for Eragon to talk.

Eragon settled into his own chair and frowned slightly for a moment, gathering his thoughts as he fiddled with a quill. Then he began, "I assume you know exactly how I was poisoned – and by whom."

"Yes, Master."

"What I don't know is why, and I need to find out. If I have enemies among your people, I cannot afford to ignore them. So I would like to know more about the tribe that poisoned me, about how your people feel towards the Riders, and why you think I was attacked."

Now it was Kitai's turn to frown as he thought deeply. "The tribe that uses Vilta is the Chorih. Other tribes had it as well, of course, but it was outlawed. The Chorih only make it because it gives them a much-need advantage over the rest of us. After the war, my whole people banded together to flush the last of them out of hiding, and they scattered deep into the forest. They were practically eradicated. That they attacked you means that they have a powerful daakyir or, as you say, shaman, who has the knowledge of Vilta, and also that they had an overpowering reason for doing so, for they would certainly never attack unless they had a strong incentive. They are utter cowards.

"They are also superstitious, which is what makes it so hard to understand why they attacked you. You see, we have two parts to our religion. One concerns the various gods and their worship – and we certainly have enough gods to worship. About a thousand, I think, and each with some ten different names. Out of all of these, there are three important ones. They are powerful and wise beyond compare – not like kings of the other gods, but above even that. They devote their time to _Aahtman_, or the soul of the universe, and ensure that the world remains balanced. Anyway, one of the lesser gods is _Lidéna_, goddess of the hunt. She has three forms; as a deer, to represent the chase; as a wolf, to represent the pounce; and as a fleet, stern huntress, to represent the kill. She is among the most venerated of our gods, since so much of our way of life depends on hunting. When the one you say is Queen Dellanir came among us many years ago, she was considered to be the manifestation of the third form of _Lidéna_ and was venerated. She was the one who explained to us about the Dragon Riders. She told us that they were guardians and meant no harm and that though they came from a strange land, they would not harm us. This was accepted without question, and fear of dragons amongst my people abated somewhat- although I'm sure that you have never been able to find any of our villages."

Eragon affirmed this with a nod.

"Well, since she told us this, none of the tribes dared to attack the Hall, although many certainly wished to. This is what makes it so hard to understand why the Chorih would attack you. As I said, they are superstitious, and they treat Li - Queen Dellanir's word as law. They would rather cut out their own tongues than violate her decrees. The only explanation I can think of is that it was not them who attacked you –it must have been someone else who was able to procure Vilta from them. If so, your enemy is powerful and very dangerous, for the Chorih would not give up their only weapon willingly. If I had to guess, I would say it was a remnant of Galbatorix's reign, people who are loyal to him. I think Senshi has already told King Orik, Queen Nasuada and the rest of this suspicion."

Eragon frowned abstractedly. "I see." Kitai sat in composed silence as Eragon mulled over this information.

Abruptly, he asked, "How many people are there in each of the tribes? I mean, how large is the overall population of your people?"

"Well . . . maybe five thousand in each of the major ones, which makes twenty five thousand – plus maybe another ten thousand with all the minor ones . . . call it around thirty five to forty thousand, give or take."

Eragon opened his eyes wide. "Forty thousand people living in this forest? How can I never have seen a trace of them?"

Kitai smiled, not without pride. "It is not the first time in our history that we have had to defend ourselves from powerful enemies. As far as my people are concerned, despite the assurances of L- Queen Dellanir, the dragons are an attack waiting to happen. People got nervous, and so it was decided that most of us should be evacuated to the other side of the mountains. That was accomplished around the same time that the Hall was completed. The three or four thousand or so people that remain are certainly capable of living here without giving themselves away. Besides, our capital city is situated in a valley between the mountains. It was no hardship to move people through it. Our king was most generous, especially to those leaving their farms behind and so on behind."

"Farms? I would have seen the fields from above."

"We have our fair share of magicians."

"But which mountains?"

"If this is the coast," he said, tracing a wobbly line on the table, " - and the Hall is situated _here_," he put a candle on the table, "- you have two mountain ranges, one in the north that runs from east to west, up _there_, and one to the east, which curves like this, from south to north-west. The latter range is what gives us our frequent rainfall. And the two of them almost meet at _this_ point. In the next valley to the south of that point lies our capital city."

"So, about . . . four- no, five days flight to the northeast. That is . . ." He blinked. "Nearly the breadth of Alagaesia!"

"Aye."

"You came from there?"

"No, we came from a village to its north. It took us about twelve days to get here."

"You walked all that way?"

"Hiked, ."

"How many people lived in your village before the evacuation?"

"A thousand, I think."

"That is a small town, not a village!"

Kitai shrugged and watched with quiet satisfaction as Eragon revised his ideas. He knew very well that he and Senshi were thought to come from a poor little group of jungle savages.

"Very well," Eragon said at last. "Thank you. This talk has been most enlightening. Kitai inclined his head with rare grace. "Was there anything more, master?"

"Yes. I would like to know," Eragon fixed him with an intent eye, "what you are going to do after you finish your training."

_Three hours later_

Zelíe rushed up the stairs, her vision blurred by tears. Was this the fourth floor; the fifth? She rather thought it was the fifth. She ran along the corridor, counting the doors. Damn it, all the doors looked the same!

She was vaguely aware of Rosalie in the back of her mind, trying to comfort her, but she did not care to let her in. Let her reach her bed and indulge in a hearty bout of tears; then, perhaps, she might be ready for sympathy.

She reached the door, pulled it open, and stood stock still.

It was a room with a ceiling high enough for a five year old dragon to curl up, lit only by warm yellow Erisdar. Dark blue curtains stitched with a pattern of waves and embroidered with white fluttered gently by the windows. A longer pair of them obscured the entrance to a balcony. A small desk with a chair in front of it served as a writing table-cum-dressing table; not that there were many feminine articles on it. Only parchment, ink, a quill, a hairbrush and a pair of silver anklets lay there. A tall mirror stood by its side. A small, intricately braided rug lay on the floor, a comfortable cot stood opposite to the desk, and a chest at the foot of the bed was for clothes. The room was very large and airy, and would have seemed extremely austerely furnished if not for the numerous fairths and paintings that covered the walls in profusion. The fairths depicted everything from a raindrop on a window with lightning in the background to a tiny dragon in flight against a glorious sunrise. A small windchime made of seashells hung by a window and clattered occasionally.

In short, it was certainly not her room.

Opposite to Zelíe sat Senshi. She was curled up against Ikraan, lowering a bamboo flute from her lips, eyes a little wide, and not just a little annoyed. As Senshi took her in, however, the annoyance faded to be replaced by a confused frown. As she rose to her feet, Zelie said distractedly, with many a sniff, "Sorry Senshi, I thought, um- wrong room – I didn't mean to barge in." She backed out as she spoke and would have left if Senshi had not said clearly, "Wait!"

Zelíe turned, acutely aware that she was drenched from the rain, that her hair was in a vile mess, and that her eyes and nose must certainly be red from crying. As Senshi took in her appearance with greater attention, her frown deepened. "I'll give you a towel. You'll catch a cold," she said abruptly. "Sit."

Zelíe wavered between insisting on leaving and submitting. She decided in favour of the latter realizing that she was trembling violently. "Thank you," she said in a suffocated voice, taking a seat on the bed.

Senshi went over to the chest and opened it, pulling out a thin cotton towel, and handed it to her. She took it and made a few vague attempts to pat her hair. Senshi stood and watched her sardonically for a few minutes, then whisked the towel out of her hand with an impatient exclamation. She made Zelíe turn a little, then sat behind her and began to rub her hair briskly with the towel. Zelíe submitted to it, trying to suppress the tears that were still streaming down her face. The only sounds were the wind, her sniffs, and the faint noises of the windchime.

When her hair was merely damp, rather than sodden, Senshi neatly spread the towel over the end of the bed and took a blanket to wrap around Zelíe's shoulders. This Zelíe permitted her to do without a demur, for she had been so caught up in her own thoughts that only the feeling of a weight on her shoulders was enough to pierce her reverie.

Seshi then moved away from her a little and gestured to the bed. "Stay until you're warm, or at least until you stop shaking." She then pulled out a scroll and appeared to become engrossed in it.

Closing her eyes, Zelíe thought, _I'll just stay for a minute – I feel like my legs will give way if I try to stand._

Rosalie didn't say anything, out of respect for her wish for solitude. She only gave her a gentle wave of reassurance that reduced the flow of tears a little. Zelíe moved towards the head of the bed and leaned back against the wall with shut eyes, struggling to clamp down on her tumultuous emotions. As she did so, she realized exactly how badly she had behaved, which made the tears start up again. How must Kitai have felt at her ill-tempered fit of pique, at her complete lack of empathy? She was no better than a shrew. She had to apologize as soon as possible.

After a little while, when she felt that she could breathe a little easier, she judged it time to go and began to pull the blanket off. As she did so, she saw that Senshi was looking at her as though trying to figure out a puzzle. Zelíe did not say anything. She didn't want to talk about this to anyone, let alone Senshi; but Senshi broke the silence for her.

"Lover's spat?" Her tone was indifferent, almost bored.

A disinclination for speech warred with her innate honesty, but finally she produced a curt, "Yes."

"Hmm." Senshi's eyes remained very intent on her face, and then the corner of her mouth curled up slightly. A mischievous gleam danced at the back of her eyes."I thought you two never quarrelled. Always seemed like a _perfect_ couple to me." There was the faintest inflection of deliberate contempt in her voice

"Well then, you thought wrong, didn't you?" said Zelie, reasonably annoyed.

Senshi leaned back and crossed her arms in a languid manner that Zelie felt was somehow insulting. "Apparently. So what has disturbed the peace between you and my darling brother?"

"Since when are you interested in your brother's love life?"

"Oh, I'm not. I just have a fondness for Caspian, and if you two have separated I'd like to tell him. The poor thing is just wasting away for love of you, Zell."

"Don't you dare call me that!" Zelie flashed, now very incensed.

"Only Kit can call you that, hmm?"

She took a deep breath. "Senshi, I know you don't like me, all right? You don't have to go to the trouble of demonstrating it. If you don't mind, I'd like to keep the details of our quarrel to myself. If you want to know, you can very well ask your brother!" Here she paused, and was quite unable to resist adding, "And if Caspian is so disappointed, I've no doubt that you are quite capable of _comforting_ him adequately."

Senshi's eyes narrowed at that barbed rider. The twinkle in her eyes vanished.

"I do not have the intention of comforting anyone, Zelíe, especially not in the way that you show such _admirable_ proficiency at. Truth be told, I think Caspian deserves far better than you."

This was too much. "Don't you dare talk about what you have no idea about, Senshi. I know what you think, I know how you feel, and you know what? I don't give a rat's arse about it. You know nothing about me. You cannot even begin to imagine how much I love your brother; if you knew, you would _dream_ about a love like ours. You think we are just amusing ourselves, that it is purely physical, that it will never last. But we have lasted for two years, and we will definitely last for a hell of a lot longer. When was the last time you exchanged more than two words with Kitai, huh? You don't care about him, and you definitely don't know how he feels! So just shut up and keep your petty little opinions to yourself!" she hissed as fiercely as she could manage, uncomfortably aware that her speech was a trifle too involved to be really effective.

Or maybe not. Senshi's amber eyes glittered dangerously. "Was that supposed to put me in my place? All it did was confirm that you think that you're living in some romantic fairytale. You think you have some ageless love that the bards will write epics about? With Kitai? If you knew how many girls he has trifled with-"

"Shut up!" she screamed, driven to real fury. She sprang up from the bed and stood with her fists clenched. "_You don't know him, and you don't know me!_ If you want to hate me, hate me, but don't you ever, ever dare say that about Kitai in front of me!"

The door was flung open and Kitai entered the room with his lithe stride. He took in the scene at a glance.

"Hey, Zell, I've been looking for you everywhere! Could I talk to you outside, please?" he said pleasantly.

Zelíe shot Senshi one more venomous glare and stalked out of the room, trembling now with anger. As soon as she stepped outside, Kitai closed the door and swung her around into his arms. She resisted for the briefest moment, and then relaxed into his chest, letting her furious tears soak his shirt as he gently stroked her hair. She felt a questioning touch from his mind and opened her consciousness to show him what had happened. His brow darkened, but he pulled away before she could perceive his precise emotions.

After a minute she was calm enough to say, "She said- she _dared_ to say-"

"I know, I know. It doesn't matter what she thinks. We both know the truth, yes?"

"But she-"

"It doesn't _matter,_ Zell." His arms tightened comfortably.

"Aye, aye," she sighed. "I know."

She leaned against him for a few minutes more, working out what to say, and then looked up into his unusually worried eyes. "Kit, about what I said before . . . I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't mean it. I didn't- I couldn't appreciate how hard this is for you."

"It's all right. I understand . . . and I didn't mean for you to think that I didn't care about you. You know that, don't you?"

Her eyes softened into tenderness, and she gave him a gentle kiss as answer. He smiled down at her and ran his hand through his ruffled hair. "It's just that . . . this is my home. This is my land. These are my people. I never imagined leaving here forever. You have to understand, nuanen; I'd always depended on going home after completing my education here."

"I know. It was my fault for throwing such a temper tantrum." She looked self-reproachful. "It was egotistical of me to think that you could not have an instant's hesitation in choosing between myself and your home."

He stroked her cheek with one thumb. "Ah, do not say that. I just need some time to work out what to do, and you will help me. We will figure it out together."

"Yes, we will. And if you decide to come, why, I'm sure you'll find that Alagaesia is not as bad as you think it is." She smiled. "I'll show you around."

He smiled in return and kissed her deeply. They stood locked together for a long moment, then reluctantly broke apart. Zelíe kissed his nose. "Come to my room, we can talk it over now."

"Just a minute." His face hardened into the cool mask that he showed to everyone else. "I'll have a word with Senshi and join you."

"All right." She squeezed his hand, gave him one last smile, and left.

Kitai went back into Senshi's room. She was sitting very still on the cot, eyes sparkling with anger.

"She was upset and distressed, and you deliberately provoked her." His words were simple and all the more cold because of it.

"Oh, big deal," she said irately and inelegantly. "It will do her no harm. All I did was ask her why you two had fought."

"Oh, really?" He stepped closer. "And why did you need to know that?"

"For the love of all the gods, what is the problem? She rushes in sobbing and with her perfect little nose glowing like a strawberry, and I'm not allowed to ask why?"

"No, because you didn't _ask_ her; you insulted her and goaded her. Do not ever do so again; in fact, just stay away from her. You hate her anyway, don't you? It won't be very hard for you. So leave her alone or you'll have me to answer to, Senshi. Remember that!"

"Fine! Fine! I'll stay away from your precious little lamb! I won't even talk to her! Are you bloody well satisfied?"

He gave her a short, mocking bow. "Indeed I am, dear sister," he said, affecting a mocking, drawling accent, expression colder than ever. "Believe me when I say that this arrangement is best for both of you."

She grabbed two pillows and threw them in quick succession. He evaded both easily. "Get out!" she commanded in furious accents.

He moved towards the door but stopped, as though checked by a sudden thought. When he turned his face was smoothly indifferent.

"Master talked to me today about what we plan to do after we're done at the Hall," he said. "He would like us to go to Alagaesia to- well, to do what Riders are supposed to do. But if we stay he has no objection; he understands that this is our home. Talk to him about it."

Her anger died a little. "So that is what you were arguing about?"

He nodded.

She looked a little thoughtful. He waited testily for a minute to see whether anything would be forthcoming, and turned to leave when nothing did.

"Kit!"

He looked over his shoulder.

"I didn't mean to upset her, you know. I was just teasing. I thought that might bring her out of her depressed mood."

He gave her a bored look. "Really? Then you failed quite spectacularly."

She glared. "You need not accept my apology or believe me, but that is the truth."

He shrugged. "I really don't care why you hurt her, Senshi. My only concern is that you did hurt her. If you wish to make amends, go apologize to her, not to me."

He turned on his heel and went out, closing the door behind him, and hurried to Zelíe's room.

**Nuanen = beautiful.**

**Author's note- YES! (almost) TEN THOUSAND WORDS, BABY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!**

**Well, technically 9810 words . . .**

**BUT TWENTY FIVE PAGES IN WORD DOCUMENT!**

**I know it was a helluva wait for this chapter, but I'm pretty sure you weren't disappointed.** **Do you want me to describe the talk with ****Í****or****û****nn? Senshi's apology? Name it, and I will (probably) do it!**

**Seriously, though - feedback, please! :D**


	15. Chapter 14: Forgiveness and faelnirv

**(Two notes: **

**Osra is not a very good teacher; her frustration is just being projected onto Sorya and Dara. They're actually very good, considering that they had just been introduced to handling swords weeks ago.**

**By using 'brother' and 'sister' in her conversation with Akhtar, I'm assuming that there are some Urgal equivalents of these words that are used casually, to show that the other person holds you in some degree of respect; not that Akhtar is actually her brother.**

**Oh, and Palé is pronounced pah-LAY, meaning hunter. Not 'payl'. **

**Just in case you guys thought I actually names a dragon in my story 'pale' . . .)**

_A few weeks later_

Osra clicked her tongue against her teeth.

"Not good enough, Dara. You need to be faster, lighter on your feet."

Dara leaned on her sword, panting heavily. "I'm . . . trying!" Sweat beaded her face and darkened her shirt.

"Again." Osra nodded to Zelίe, who assumed the on-guard position gracefully, rose-hued sword shimmering.

"Can we . . . take a break . . . for five minutes?" Dara bent double, panting harder.

"Come on, Dara. We haven't even been sparring for an hour. On guard, now. We'll go a bit slower, all right?" Zelíe glanced at Osra, who looked disapproving but did not demur. Instead, she turned her attention to the other pair of Sorya and Senshi.

Sorya was quite good, only her attacks lacked finesse. She struck boldly and recklessly; her style was all attack, no defense. She could not match Senshi's deft blade. Even as Osra watched, Senshi locked their blades together and flicked gently upwards, causing Sorya's sword to fly out of her hand.

What the dwarf-girl really needed, Osra mused, was a partner of her own height to spar with. Once she learned to fight well with Ravûn, she could move on to taller opponents. Having to constantly angle her blade upwards could not be easy; Osra could see Sorya's arms trembling as she snatched her sword off the ground and returned to face Senshi, scowling.

"Sorya," she called in her deep voice.

Sorya looked over impatiently.

"Anger will not help you win. It makes your attacks predictable and clouds your mind. Calm yourself and devote your energies to anticipating Senshi's attacks, rather than trying to attack as powerfully as possible. By the latter method you may best those weaker than you, by the former you may best all who stand before you. But empty your mind first."

Judging from the scowl still on Sorya's face her advice was not well received, but she allowed herself to feel a small flicker of optimism when Sorya closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

Turning back to Dara and Zelíe, she was slightly confused to see that their battle had not resumed and that Dara was regarding her with a startled expression.

"What is it? Why do you not continue, Dara?"

The slim girl started. "Nothing, it's just that . . . well, you talk so formally."

Osra smiled. "Within a year, you will also probably employ the same method of speaking, at least in public. Most of the scrolls in the library use this kind of language, and Master Eragon encourages us to speak thus. He believes that refinement of speech leads to refinement of the mind. But that is a lesson for another time. On guard, now!"

Dara yelped as Zelíe attacked. Osra alternately shouted advice to Dara and Sorya as they sought to hold their own, growing gradually more irritated when they fumbled their defenses and muffed their attacks. It was an irrational reaction, she knew - they were still young - but she was doing her best to help them, and they seemed to constantly disregard her advice or misinterpret it. She appreciated now how much effort it must take for master to teach them well without losing his temper. Still, right now she felt like he'd gotten the better deal, teaching the boys today. They, of course, were more eager to learn how to fight well. He was training Caspian and Akhtar in another room right now, with help from the others.

After the session was over, Sorya and Dara went off for a bath, wincing as they went, leaving Osra, Senshi, and Zelíe alone. As they laid their weapons aside and efficiently stripped off their light armour, Osra noticed again a kind of dormant tension between the other two. She sighed to herself. She hated all these human politics. With Urgals, if you had a problem with someone, you told them about it. If your complaint was justified, the other would apologize. If it was not (or if the other's pride was injured), the other person would challenge you to a fight, which you would win or lose. There was none of this sulking, none of these miffed silences. Her usually amiable temper was already abraded by the unsatisfactory training practice, and this moody atmosphere did not help.

"Is something the matter?" she finally snapped.

They both looked up guiltily. "No, Osra," Zelíe said.

"Don't lie to me, please. If something is wrong, sort it out or have a sparring match, don't skulk around like kicked dogs."

The humans avoided each other's gazes.

Osra growled deep in her throat. "We're supposed to help teach the young ones. If you two cannot put your petty differences aside, tell Master that you cannot do so and have done with it."

They still kept quiet.

Osra snorted and stamped away. Humans were so annoyingly temperamental

On her way back to her room, she ran into Akhtar, who was frowning at a scroll as he walked. He looked up as she approached, and his heavy frown turned into a - well, not exactly a smile, but at least a more welcoming expression.

"**Greetings**", he rumbled.

"**Greetings**." She motioned to his scroll with a toss of her head. "**What are you reading, brother**?"

"**A record of the battle of Anghelm**."

"**First or second**?"

"**Second**."

"**The controversial one**, mm?"

"Aye, **sister**. **See, I cannot understand this. Shaizagh led his clan to attack the flank of Kisthah's clan, but Kisthah's clan was infinitely stronger and better equipped. Even if Shaizagh attacked from the side, he would have found himself trapped in the middle of Kisthah's army. I don't understand how he could have survived, let alone won**."

Osra stepped beside him to peer at the scroll. "**Ah, but you see here, it says that the terrain was extremely uneven and rocky. Kisthah's clan was unused to such ground, whereas it was Shaizagh's native ground**."

Akhtar frowned at the scroll again. "**Granted, but terrain alone cannot turn the tide of battle, sister."**

"**Of course not. There were a multitude of other factors. Look there, on the third day of battle, the weather** . . ."

They stood there for quite some time, debating the various points of the historic Urgal battle, and minutes slipped away unnoticed. Caspian, who had to go down that corridor, stared at them as he passed. It was an incongruous sight, two Urgals poring over an old scroll, one of them two feet taller than the other. Osra, in fact, had to incline her head to an astonishing degree to be able to see the scroll properly, and Akhtar still had to hold it far above his normal sightline.

Only when Osra began to get a cramp in her neck did she realize how much time had passed.

"**It must be time for lunch, almost. Shall we continue this discussion in the library afterwards**?"

"**Of course**," Akhtar said immediately. "**I apologise for taking up so much of your time**."

"**Not at all. It was a pleasure**," Osra smiled. It really was a pleasure for her. Akhtar was the only one who could understand such matters like she did. Of course, master and the teaching elves had an academic knowledge of Urgal literature, but such knowledge remained only academic, not cultural or instinctual like it was for an Urgal. These epics were the pride of her race. Few outsiders could ever understand how much these legacies meant to an Urgal. It had been a long time, in fact, since she had been able to talk as freely, and with such certainty of being completely understood.

With a slight feeling of regret, she moved to straighten her head, but it was jerked down sharply with a hard wrench.

"Wha-?"

At the same time, Akhtar's head was jerked upwards painfully.

Frowning, Osra touched her hands to her head and followed the line of her curving horns. Her eyes widened as her fingers reached near the end of her horns and encountered something that certainly wasn't supposed to be there.

Akhtar's horns were locked with hers!

Oh hell.

Oh hell oh hell oh hell!

Urgals only locked horns in two circumstances - mostly when they were fighting as opponents, which was accidental, or else during . . . activity . . . when they were mates. The human equivalent of locking horns in a non-combative situation was probably falling on someone and kissing them, or taking their clothes off - basically anything that declared without a hint of doubt that you were very interested in the other person.

Akhtar had evidently realized what had happened as well. His voice was suddenly unsteady.

"Uhh . . . Osra-"

"**I know**!" she moaned, trying frantically to extricate herself before anyone came along and saw them. How had this happened? How could their horns tangle without either of them noticing?!

Akhtar reached up as well, trying to discover exactly how their horns were interlocked. Seconds trickled by, steadily turning into minutes, and they were no closer to being released. Osra growled in frustration and uttered, "_Bring me a mirror!_"

A full length mirror came soaring out of Caspian's room and hovered in front of them. Osra could feel heat rising to her cheeks as she caught sight of what she and Akhtar looked like.

"Osra, Osra, **wait**." Akhtar swatted her hand aside and started to issue a stream of instructions. "**Lower your head a bit and move it to the left- a bit more - good, now tilt like that - no, the other way**!"

Osra shut her eyes so as not to look into the mirror and followed his instructions. She felt like her mind had been shut down by embarrassment - her thoughts were not moving. The only thought that repeated was, _Our horns are locked together, our horns are locked together . . ._

She could feel Mánya's unholy amusement and gritted her teeth as her dragon shared the joke with Jethran. A soft curse issued from Akhtar as her heard Jethran's thoughts, and his fingers worked faster.

At last, he twisted his head one way, she twisted the other, and their horns slid out as beautifully as you could wish. They stumbled apart from each other as quickly as they could, avoiding each other's gaze. She stared at her boots and sought wildly for something to say.

"**I suppose we should go to the dining hall. Master will be wondering where we are**." She wished her voice was not so unsteady.

"**Aye, of course. Uhh** . . .** Why don't you go ahead, I'll join you later **. . . ?"

She strode off as quickly as she could with a hasty nod, almost before he had finished his sentence, her cheeks still burning.

_Why why why why why did this have to happen to me?!_

_You know, you two would really make a rather nice coup-_

_Mánya, this is really, _really_ not the time!_

Akhtar stood rooted to the spot behind her and didn't look up until he heard her footsteps die away.

_Nearly thirty minutes earlier_

"I don't know what you want from me, Zelíe. I apologized to you." Senshi crossed her arms.

"I don't want anything from you." Zelíe slammed a shield onto the table and started to restring a bow.

"Then what is your problem?"

"There isn't any problem," Zelíe said in tones that suggested the exact opposite.

"Hey!" Senshi pulled the other girl around to face her. "I don't care about your quarrel with me, but neither do I want to live here by skirting around you all the time, all right? You've been avoiding me for weeks. Just tell me your problem and get it over with!"

Zelíe shoved Senshi's arms away. "My problem is the way you treat your brother! You've pushed him away ever since you two got to the Hall, then you've been sulking about the fact that he isn't as close to you as he was and blamed it on me! I mean, do you even see how utterly idiotic that is? You pushed him away because he made friends faster than you, because he fell in love with me, and _then _blamed me. Do you know how much he missed you? How he tried to understand what he'd done to alienate you? How guilty _I _felt when I thought that I was the cause of the problem?"

Zelíe compressed her mouth, as if regretting what she'd said. When she looked back at Senshi's startled and hurt expression, her voice softened slightly. "I understand that you felt alone and abandoned. But you didn't have to make him feel the same way."

Senshi's lips trembled ever so slightly. She crossed her arms and stared at the floor, her face stony. Zelíe did not break the silence.

After a minute or so, Senshi looked up, eyes as hard as steel. "You know _nothing _of how I -" She broke off, took a breath, and started again. "So what do you want me to do?"

Zelíe looked at her carefully. "I want your relationship with him to be as it used to."

"Fine. Done. Are you bloody well satisfied?"

Zelíe, blinking at the venom in those few words, nodded slowly. Senshi walked out past her without another word.

Këyal wiped his forehead and throat with a cloth, wryly reflecting that he was picking up more human gestures all the time. He stripped the bracers off his arms and laid the practice sword down in its place. As he did so, he heard Eragon call Kitai over in low voice. Biting his lip, he moved quickly to finish his work. He didn't like hearing other people's conversations, no matter that he couldn't help it.

He did this time, though; at least, half of it. He didn't hear Eragon's low question, but he heard Kitai's answer. "I will go, master, and so will Senshi."

Eragon said, "Oh? Why?" in a surprised tone. Këyal hastily left the room so that he couldn't hear Kitai's reply - so hastily that he ran right into Dara, who almost bounced off of his chest into the wall. He reached out to steady her.

"Hey," she laughed, clutching at his arm in return. "Watch where you're going, Leafblade."

He smiled in return and let go. "Why are you here? Isn't it almost time for lunch?"

She pouted. "Well, _excuse me _for coming to escort you. If you don't want my company . . ."

"No, no, I do, don't worry," he said with a grin. "I would not dare to refuse."

"Oh, please. I'm not that scary. Even if I was, I wouldn't scare you . . . Anyway, lunch doesn't start until Master comes in."

He assented solemnly, which earned him a light punch. They strolled down the corridor, Dara being very chirpy and playful, and Këyal putting up with her in amusement. Finally, he commented, "Sparring seems to have put you in a good mood."

"Mm, it always does, even though it makes me terribly sore - and though I always lose."

"Well, when you improve, we shall have a sparring match."

That riled her up instantly. "Why when I'm better? I can give a pretty good account of myself already, you know! I'll fight you whenever you want."

He chuckled and patted her on the head, which he knew very well she hated. "Peace, little cat. Let your claws get a little sharper."

She glared at him, ducking out of his reach. "You know how annoying it is that you're so tall?"

"Yes, you keep telling me, little one." He gave her a wink. "I think it's nice that your head only reaches my chin. It makes you seem more like a kitten."

"Why do you like that name so much?!"

"Why do you hate it so much?"

"Oh, you're impossible!" She refused to look at him, and they walked for a little while in silence. Këyal looked sideways at her haughty profile and repressed the urge to laugh. After a few minutes, when she showed no sign of relenting, he stealthily drew his finger along the back of her neck. When she looked around, he quickly pulled his hand back and adopted an innocent expression. She gave him a suspicious glare and turned back ahead. He tickled her again, and she slapped the back of her neck lightly, as though trying to swat an insect. He drew in a sharp breath as his fingers were nearly caught. It was a few minutes before he dared tickle her again. This time, she undid her ponytail with a toss of her head so that her hair shielded her neck, never looking at him. Këyal gave her an appraising look. Oh really? She was being _mature_, was she?

He bent down and gently blew in her ear. She shook her head and rubbed her ear on her shoulder, giving him a furious look. Këyal could see goosebumps on her neck.

"Will you stop?"

He gave her such a pathetic look that she couldn't stop her mouth from quirking as she faced forward again.

"Dara."

No response.

"Dara."

She didn't look.

"Daara."

Still didn't look.

"Dara?"

She exhaled a little too forcefully.

"Daaara.'

She compressed her lips.

"Dara, please?"

She didn't look.

He put his mouth close to her ear and whispered in a tearful voice, "Dara, I'm sorry!"

She almost looked but caught herself in time. Grinning to himself, he continued, "Dara, if you don't forgive me, I'm going to cry, I swear!"

That did it. She burst into helpless laughter.

"Oh, you abominable elf! You're forgiven, don't worry."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Of course I am, you can never stay angry at me. I'm too charming."

She bumped him softly with her hip. "Don't count on it," she said, but with a look that said you-annoy-me-so-much-but-you're-adorable-so-it's-okay.

He tweaked a curl of her hair with a smile and removed his arm just as they reached the dining hall. Dara gave him a quick smile in return before going to talk to Sorya. Këyal moved to the other side of the table to sit next to Caspian, who was seated two chairs down from Eragon's right and greeted him with a cheerful nod.

"Where is everyone else?" Këyal asked him. The seats were empty, except for Master's, Sorya's, Caspian's, and of course Dara's.

"They all went off to have baths, I think the girls as well."

"You didn't?"

"Of course I did! I'm just used to taking a bath in about two minutes."

"Oh?" He assumed an expression of cordial interest.

"I have seven siblings. Everything had to be fast at home - eating, bathing, everything."

"Were you the oldest?"

"Aye. I had to take care of them all while my parents worked . . . Four brothers and three sisters." He grinned suddenly. "I bet I'm the only person at the Hall who knows how to change a diaper."

Këyal was not entirely sure what to say to that, so he smiled politely and waited for anything else that might be forthcoming.

"I read that elves only have one child?"

"Yes. Children are considered to be priceless. A couple must have unquestioning trust and love for each other to have a child."

"Mm. I wish my parents had only had one child - or at least only two or three. The yammering in the house when all of us were together . . ."

"But you must have been a very loving family? I don't see how ten people could live in the same house otherwise." His voice was carefully devoid of curiosity.

Caspian gave him an odd look. "I suppose so. Well, yes, we did love each other a lot. We were very happy."

"Don't you miss them?"

"Oh . . ." Sorrow bloomed in his eyes. "More than you can imagine."

Këyal hesitated. "Forgive me for asking, but then why did you touch Lifaen's egg?"

"I didn't do it on purpose! I didn't even know that what I touched was a dragon egg. My father is a trader, you see, and he had brought me to Alagaësia for the first time on one of his trips. He'd told me about dragons, but I didn't believe him until we docked at Feinster and saw Fírnen - and anyway, he didn't know what a dragon egg looked like any more than I did. It was pure luck that Queen Arya was in Feinster at the same time that we were, and even then I would certainly not have gone and touched the egg. It happened by accident . . . See, they had erected this huge red pavilion for Queen Arya and Fírnen in an unused ground and I was curious - I had never seen an elf, and I was to have gone back home the next day - and so I was at the ground when Queen Arya arrived.

"There were many guards, but not many people; I think that was because the citizens had been ordered to leave the elves alone. Anyway, there were only children who had escaped their parents and come to gape. I fitted right in - I'm not a very big person, am I?" He smiled ruefully. "Well, as Fírnen was walking towards the pavilion there was a fly or something irritating him and he shook his head. One of the saddlebags came loose and fell to the ground behind him. Nobody noticed it except the children; they all surged towards it and fought to open it, and of course, the eggs spilled out of the bag - and suddenly the only sound you could hear was of running feet. Each and every one of those children ran for their lives. I don't know what they thought, maybe they felt that they would get punished for touching such precious-looking things. I was the only one left, so I picked up the eggs and went inside the pavilion. I thought they were gems. Oh, I was terrified, but I knew I had to return them. . . No one had noticed that the eggs were missing yet. I walked in and about twenty blades were leveled at me. I remember I was shaking like a leaf. And I said . . ." He gave Këyal an embarrassed grin. "I said, 'I think you lost these.' in this tiny voice, and every living thing in there was staring at me. Then Queen Arya came up to me, and I explained what had happened, and she said thank you you can go, and just when I was about to hand the wretched things over and be done with them Lifaen hatched for me.

"I heard this loud crack, and I thought I'd somehow broken the 'emerald'. I apologized immediately - over and over again until it dawned on me that Queen Arya wasn't paying any attention. I looked down, and I was holding a dragon. And . . . yes. That's how it happened."

"I see," Këyal said quietly. There wasn't really anything else to say.

"I don't regret Lifaen hatching for me, but I do regret that I never said goodbye to my family." Caspian's voice was quiet. "My father was devastated. I was supposed to be his support, his pride and joy . . . and now I'm stuck here while he struggles at home. And later I'll be stuck policing Alagaësia." He smiled with some effort. "In that respect I'm quite like Sorya."

Këyal disregarded this attempt at levity. "Well . . . I can help you contact your family, if you would like to," he suggested abruptly.

Caspian looked up, astonished. "You can do that? You know how to?"

In truth, Këyal was surprised at himself for offering to help, but the boy had looked so forlorn, he'd just blurted it out. He now looked a little wry, but said kindly, "To be sure I do. Shall we ask ebrithil for permission immediately after lunch?"

"Yes - yes! Thank you, Këyal!"

Këyal smiled. "It is not a problem, Caspian."

Caspian said nothing more, but sat with a kind of glow radiating from his face. Këyal felt amused, and quite touched. It was the first time he'd helped someone like this - at home no one had ever needed his help. It had always been the other way around. It was a new feeling, and . . . not an unpleasant one.

Eragon was tapping his fingers on the table. He called across to Sorya, "What's keeping them?"

"They should be here soon, master," she replied pleasantly, and resumed her conversation with Dara.

Osra entered just then, clumping to her seat. "Where are the others, Osra?" Eragon asked.

"Akhtar was right behind me. I don't know about the others," she said curtly, sitting down.

Eragon frowned, but just as he opened his mouth Ravûn and Kitai entered, chatting amiably.

"Good!" he muttered. "So . . . Four boys, only Akhtar isn't here, and . . . Senshi and Zelíe-"

Zelíe entered right then.

"Senshi and Akhtar, then." He raised his voice. "If they aren't here in five minutes, we'll start without them."

Këyal noticed a certain stiffness in Caspian's expression as Zelíe seated herself by Osra, but as soon as Caspian caught Këyal's eye he smiled and, with a nod to Osra, said in an undertone, "She looks angry, don't you think?"

Këyal looked at her critically. "I would say . . . more embarrassed than angry."

"I wonder why?"

Senshi came in. Caspian gave her a bright smile, which she returned briefly. Këyal shifted his scrutiny to her. "Now _she_ looks angry."

"Mmm . . . I think so, yes. That's something else to find out today."

"Will you?"

"Why not?"

"She's a very withdrawn person, isn't she?"

"No, she isn't. You just don't talk to her much. She can actually be very talkative, if you approach her the right way."

"You seem quite close to her."

"Not really . . . Dara talks to her as well, ask her to help you talk to her."

"Oh no, I was just asking, I don't - " He broke off at Caspian's wry look. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just . . . there are only ten of us, we're going to be living together for a few more years, at least, and we still have all these tiny factions."

"You want us to be one big happy family, in effect?"

"I do, yes. When we go back to Alagaësia, we will have to trust each other unreservedly if we are to perform our duties well. We can't do that if we don't even know each other."

"You're very serious all of a sudden," Këyal smiled.

"Well, it's important to me. Ravûn feels the same."

Before Këyal could answer, Akhtar came in with his huge stride. "Sorry I'm late, master," he murmured, moving to his seat next to Kitai.

Eragon beamed at the table. "Dig in, everyone!" He followed his own advice, loading his plate. The clinking of cutlery and the buzz of conversation filled the room. Caspian struck up a conversation with Ravûn, and deftly drew Këyal into it - so deftly that Këyal barely noticed. By the end of the meal, Këyal had not only had a good conversation with Ravûn, but also with Sorya and Zelíe. As he walked with Caspian up to Eragon afterwards, he muttered in an undertone, "Quite the social expert, aren't you?" and received a wide grin in return.

_That_ _night_

Caspian and Dara walked arm in arm down a marble path in the Garden. Anyone watching their meandering path could be pardoned for thinking that they were rather tipsy, which, in fact, they were. They'd found a store of faelnirv in a tiny cupboard in the kitchen.

"So," Caspian said in a slurred voice, "tell me whatsh going on 'tween you -" he poked her shoulder, "and Keyal."

Dara gave him the dirtiest look she could muster. "Theresh nothing going on, shtupid. He'sh an elf."

He hicupped. "Sho are you!"

"HALF AN ELF," she yelled in his ear. "HALF HALF HALF HALF-"

"Fine!" He rubbed his ear tenderly. "But shtill-"

"No!" She slashed through the air with one hand. "No shtill. No nothing! He'sh very nishe and shweet but I don't like him. You know - you know who does like someone? You!"

"Me? I don' like anyone, you don't know that I like anyone . . ." he muttered.

"Yeah you do, yeah you do, tell you who, tell you who?" she sang.

He glared at her.

"You like . . . ZELÍE!"

"No I don't!"

"You know what you do when she comes inna room? You do thish!"She proceeded to demonstrate a faint in an extremely exaggerated fashion.

He decided to change tack from denial to defiance. "Ya know what? I do like her! Sho? Sho? She - hic! - doesn' like me back! She likes Kitai! She'sh never gonna like me!"

Dara nodded wisely. "Uh huh. You know wha' you gotta do?"

He gave her a hopeful look. "What?"

"Ya gotta find someone else."

"I don' wanna! She'sh perfect, okay? I'm never gonna like anyone elshe! She'sh the prettiesht girl . . . hic! . . . the prettiesht-"

Dara blew a very inelegant raspberry. "She aint ever gonna like you. Get over it!"

Caspian's eyes filled with tears. "Yes she will!" he wailed, apparently forgetting that he'd said exactly the same thing ten seconds ago.

"Uh uh. Never." She saw the tears trickling down his face and tried to console him. "You'll get over it, don' worry . . . Senshi liked Eragon an' she got over it."

Caspian's eyes grew huge. "She liked Eragon?"

Dara nodded emphatically.

"An' then she shtopped?"

More nods. They rounded a corner bursting with bougainvillea and stumbled toward a bench.

"I don' believe you. You're jush tryna - hic! - make me feel better!"

"Oh yeah? Oh yeah?" Dara caught sight of a figure on the bench and pointed triumphantly. "She'sh right there! Go ask her!"

Senshi looked up as they approached, faint tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks. "Hey, Caspian, Dara," she said quietly. Then she frowned. "Are you two . . . drunk?"

"Yep!" Caspian shouted. "Very drunk!"

"Keep it down. What did you - oh, the faelnirv?"

"Aye. Hey-" Caspian had a brilliant idea. "Why don' you have some?"

Dara was growing impatient. "Cas, ask her," she whined, tugging at his sleeve.

"Ask me what?"

"Nothin'," he growled, waving Dara off. He turned back to Senshi, eyes glinting with clumsy cunning. "Have some, come on! It'sh delishush!"

She shrugged and took the bottle. Before too long, she was seemed more drunk than the other two, and Caspian made his move.

"So, Shenshi, Dara told me the most ridiculous story," he said in an offhand way.

She blinked owlishly at him.

"I told her that she wash bein' stupid, but she inshisted-"

"Get on with it," she growled.

"She said that you liked Eragon," he said baldly.

Her face went blank. Dara held her breath -

And Senshi burst out laughing. The other two exchanged bemused looks as she wiped tears from her eyes and laughed and laughed.

"What?" Dara whined, poking her. "You did, didn't you?"

"_Of course _I did," she giggled. "I was fifteen, and he was like a hero to me. Not a hero - a god! Come on, Dara, I bet you also think he's handsome?"

Dara looked bemused. "Well, of courshe he's handsome -"

"I bet he's the stuff of dreams of every girl in Alagaesia, no?"

"I - I guess - "

She finally calmed down a little. "So this is what you two wanted to get me drunk for, huh?" she chuckled. "You could have just asked me, idiots! Yes, I did like Master, but that was some time ago."

"But _how _did you get over him?" Tears welled up in Caspian's eyes again. "Pleashe tell me!"

Senhsi's expression softened. She planted a comforting kiss on his cheek. "I don't know how, _mina. _I just did. I know it's hard, but I'm sure you will get over Zelíe too. Just . . . try not to think about her much."

Dara pulled him into a hug, sympathetic tears filling her eyes as well, and he sobbed on her shoulder until he fell asleep.

_In the morning_

Dara groaned. Her arm was twisted underneath her body, her legs were trapped under something heavy, she had a massive crick in her neck, her mouth tasted like a rat had died in it, and she had a pounding headache.

"About time," said an amused, musical voice.

She cracked one eye open. Senshi stood over her, one arm outstretched. She looked fresh and alert. "Come on, get up."

Dara took her hand and tried to pull herself up, but whatever was lying on her legs wouldn't budge. She looked down to see Caspian sprawled there.

"Ey, Caspian! Get off my legs!"

He groaned as well. "What's the time?" he mumbled.

"Idiot, get up!" She tried to extricate her legs again, but to no avail. For such a wiry person, he was quite heavy. She kicked him in the back.

He yelped and rolled over, giving her a wounded look as she stood up shakily.

Senshi smiled as she went to help Caspian. "You too really are a couple of lightweights, huh?"

Caspian staggered as he stood. "Did I ask what time it is?"

"Yes, you did."

"Did I get an answer?"

"It's nearly three hours past dawn. _You_ two," she prodded them, "were supposed to be working in the kitchen an hour ago. Get moving, master is waiting."

They shambled off with many winces and grimaces. She called after them, "Oh, and you probably shouldn't have taken the faelnirv from master's personal store!" and walked off humming a jaunty little tune.

If looks could kill, there would have been one less Rider at the Hall right then . . .

_That evening_

Senshi stared at the door in front of her. It was a pretty good door, as doors go – it had hinges and a handle and a keyhole, like most other doors. What made it different was the figure of a seated wolf with a small bird perched on its head carved into the wood.

She smiled a little and traced the carving lightly, her fingers lingering on the head of the wolf, before knocking and entering.

The room inside glowed with warm light – yellow Erisdar nestled in half of the numerous niches in the dark wood walls, while the others contained scrolls. The walls themselves curved up to meet at the top, forming a skylight directly over the bed, through which the rosy sky could be seen. The carpet was made of living, short, springy grass. Tiny wildflowers bordered it, creating a colorful border between the carpet and the floor. Like most of the rooms in the hall, most of the ceiling was of a comfortable height for a human while one corner had a ceiling that was immensely higher. A dragon's bed nestled in that corner. Like Senshi's room, a huge desk with numerous drawers was present. Kitai was seated at it, carving something out of wood. A floating Erisdar turned gently in the air above his head, changing position according to his muttered commands. Numerous tools were scattered all over the desk.

He turned as she entered, and she was startled by his expression. He looked utterly exhausted, yet somehow intent – like he had a problem he was bent on solving.

"Hey, Kit," she said softly.

He smiled slightly. "Hey, Sen," he mimicked.

That really made her smile, and she pinched him lightly. 'Sen' meant sparrow in their native language, whereas 'senshi' meant 'dawn'.

She sat down on the bed and motioned to the desk. "What are you making?"

"Something to help us all move around the blasted Hall faster." He rubbed at his eyes. "I mean, there's a limit to how big you can make a building, no?"

"Mmm. I like the carving you did on the door."

"You remember papa telling us that story, huh?"

"How could I forget? The king and the woodpecker."

"But he made it the wolf and the sparrow for us . . . and you wanted to be the wolf, and we fought so much he picked us both up and wrapped us up in bedsheets until we promised to stop."

"It was the first time I cried and laughed at the same time. So long ago . . ."

"Nine years." He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair wearily.

They both were quiet for some time. Then Kitai slowly said, "My _shikha _ceremony should have been done months ago."

Senshi looked at him with quiet sorrow. "I know."

"Even when I've lived for lifetimes I won't be able to consider myself a man, now. I'm the only boy in centuries not to have undergone the ceremony." He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. "Do you ever resent _her_ for what she did to us?"

She knew who he was talking about. "Sometimes, yes. But we are now learning about a world that is much bigger than us . . . about all the beings in it, about justice and morality and selflessness. I think it is worth it, most of the time."

"But by doing all this, we have left our own world. Our home. Our people. Our land . . . and she never even gave us a choice."

"It is the life we received. We can't do anything about it. Isn't that why we both chose to go to Alagaesia? Because that is what all this training is for, isn't it? We could hardly go back home with Ikraan and Palé . . ."

He looked away, tears glimmering in his eyes. She reached out and placed her hand over his.

"It was always harder for you, no? Living here . . . I didn't help you enough. I'm sorry for sulking. For everything."

He shook his head. "It was harder for you, Sen. You still hadn't accepted what had happened to papa." Her hand tensed over his. He continued, "You never let go of your hate for mama. You were in a worse state than I was, and I'm the one who didn't try hard enough to help." His voice softened. "You think I never saw the scars?"

She pulled her hand away at that, startled eyes flying to his face.

His tears spilled over, and he hastily wiped them away. "I just missed home. You –"

She interrupted him, "Home was everything to you. Our culture kept you alive. You have so much pride in who we are, Kit. And to come here, where no one knew or cared about us except as Riders to be trained, I know it was like cutting off your supply of air. I knew. . ." Her eyes dropped. "I just didn't do anything. I'm so sorry."

Now he reached for her hand. "I'm sorry too. I wasn't there for you."

"But we have each other now, no?" She raised her eyes again; they were also swimming with tears.

He smiled and pulled her into a hug. "Yes, of course."

The hug lasted a long time – a lot of unsaid things were put into that hug.

They broke apart eventually, and Senshi returned to her seat, wiping her eyes. "Anyway, we can certainly blame _her_. Dellanir."

He sighed. "I hope I never see her again."

A silence bloomed, but it was a comfortable silence – a silence that enveloped them and comforted them. It was broken by Pale's entrance. Senshi smiled at him.

"Greetings, Palé."

_Greetings, Senshi. _

The golden dragon seemed content with that, but she felt that they probably would want some time alone together, so she got up to leave. As she did, a thought struck her.

"Kit?"

"Yes?"

"Does Zelíe make you happy?" It was a blunt, direct question.

He looked her in the eye. "More than anyone before."

She smiled a tiny smile as she took in his expression. "If she's good enough for you, I guess she's good enough for me, huh?"

He smiled as well. "Definitely."

"Oh god, so now I have to make friends with her?"

He laughed. "Yes, you do! Go find her!"

She groaned comically as she placed a hand on the doorknob.

Kitai's smile suddenly vanished. "Senshi, wait!" he yelped.

She looked back, puzzled.

"Did Zelíe tell you to come and apologize to me?!"

Her smile faded as well, and her amber eyes grew serious.

"Answer me!"

"Yes, she did," she said quietly.

Kitai's expression was indescribable. Disbelief, anger, and disappointment were all mixed in with subtler emotions.

Palé opened one huge eye.

"So that's why," he said as quietly. "I was wondering why you suddenly felt such remorse. How come you listened to her?"

"Kit, I didn't apologize because she told me to. I mean, I did, but-" she broke off. His eyes were cold.

She took a breath and spoke in a measured voice. "She asked me to make us like we used to be, that's all. I didn't do this because she told me to. She just helped me realize what I was doing wrong. Believe me, after she told me about this, I was not at all inclined to apologize. She was so-"

Kitai's eyes narrowed.

"Well . . . I didn't want to listen to her. I came because I thought I shouldn't refuse to do what I know is right just because she irritated me."

He still didn't speak.

"Kit, I didn't do this for her. The only reason I spoke to her was to stop her being angry with me, because I knew that that was what you wanted. I was trying to make things right between us. Please don't be angry about this . . ."

He let out a long breath. "Fine, fine," he muttered, waving a hand like he was shooing her away. He didn't look at her as she left, but a grin spread over her face. She knew her brother – he was utterly incapable of holding grudges.

Although when he _did _get angry it was like a volcano . . .

_Might be an idea not to insult his girlfriend, then._

_Yeah, I never would have thought of that on my own, Ikraan._

He snorted.

Eragon sighed as he slumped into his chair. "Teaching isn't exactly a walk in the park . . ."

"You knew that earlier, Eragon," Arya said, eyes twinkling.

"It's not just teaching, it's taking care of them all! Do you know how many little fights they have with each other everyday? Fights about rooms, about chores, about weapons-"

"Yes, I do – even though you've only been telling me for five years."

"I'm sorry . . ."

"What happened today to put you in this mood?"

"Nothing in particular, I just feel . . . uneasy."

Her brow furrowed. "It's that poison, isn't it? Its effects have not yet abated?"

"Arya -"

"Have the nightmares stopped?"

He looked away, biting his lip.

She pressed her fingertips against the glass. "Love, look at me."

Her heart caught in her throat when he did so. He looked haunted, his eyes wide and pleading.

"No, they haven't," he said hoarsely. Beside him, Saphira stirred. "They come every night. Saphira has enough to do keeping me s- calm."

Arya knew he'd been about to say 'sane'.

"Is it at least better than before?"

"Yes, it is. My body is fine, now, it's just my mind."

She looked at him carefully. "Eragon?"

"Yes?"

"What is wrong?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. For a few minutes, there was only silence. Then he spoke quietly.

"These dreams are not normal. They are more vivid. When I am in them, I do not know that I am dreaming. It all seems real; every horror that I witness seems as real as you are to me now. And I do terrible things, I witness terrible deeds, and I fear – I don't know if those dreams are – are warping my mind somehow. I fear that those dreams will one day become my reality and this-" he gestured to the beautiful room and to her, "will become a fantasy. I fear that who I am may change for the worse, without my even noticing it."

Her expression hardened. She looked at him, and, never dropping his gaze, she spoke his true name.

It seemed to reverberate in the air long after the last syllable had left her mouth. Eragon blinked as though someone had slapped him. His haunted expression was replaced by wonder.

Steel crept into her voice. "That is who you are. And who you are is someone who will not succumb to these twisted visions. Who you are is someone I love and trust beyond anyone else. Who you are is Saphira's Rider. You are Eragon Shadeslayer, son of Brom, and I know without doubt that you will triumph over these nightmares." She allowed the steel to fade, to become tenderness. "I believe in you, Eragon . . . and you will always have Saphira and I to protect you. Never think that we will let you fall."

Tears formed in his eyes. His voice was a husky whisper. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

She smiled, tears forming in her eyes as well. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them back to the glass. On the other side, Eragon did the same.

A gentle knock on her door reminded her of the time. "Eragon, I -"

"I know. Go, my love. Do not let Orrin irritate you overmuch." He smiled shakily.

She looked at him tenderly. "Stay strong."

"WIol ono, nuanen . . . always."

With a small gasp, she broke the connection. As his smiling face faded from her mirror, her tears trickled onto her cheeks. She bowed her head, trying to calm herself.

That was how Vanir found her when he entered the room.

"_My Queen?"_

"_Yes, Vanir. Has the conference started?"_ She wiped that last of the tears away and picked up her rich cloak, fastening it at her throat; and with it, the visage of a queen. She swept from the room, Vanir hurrying to catch up.

"_Yes, my Queen, but there is something . . ."_

"_What is it?"_

"_There is a matter that I thought I should warn you of. It is bound to come up in the meeting, Queen Nasuada is very concerned . . ."_

She looked at him sternly. "_Spit it out, Vanir_." She knew she was being cruel, but he had burst into her private conference room, and she was not inclined to be gentle.

He clasped his hands together, turning the ring on his finger nervously. Sweat beaded his forehead. She had never seen him so disturbed.

"_The children of Alagaësia . . . they are being taken. They are vanishing. And among them is the young prince Charles . . . _

Arya felt her eyes widen in horror.

" . . . _King_ _Orrin's son."_


	16. Chapter 15: Skates and shocks

**A/N: I know it's incredibly late. Don't hate me!**

**Also, I'd like to thank all the Guests who have complimented my story – you **

**guys are so sweet! Thank you all so much. *Hugs for everyone***

**For now, on with the story!**

"Isn't it beautiful?" Këyal murmured raptly.

"Yes, it is," she replied, smiling. She was sitting in the sand between him and Akhtar on the beach. To their left, a circle of large rocks encircled a cove of limpid water, where Kitai was trying to teach Zelíe how to swim; she could hear their laughter and muted teasing. In front of them, Sorya and Ravûn were carefully wading into the waves with wary expressions while Osra gently encouraged them. The end of Sorya's long red braid swirled gently in the water around her knees. Caspian and Senshi were at that hill, the one with the huge tree on it, meditating. They were going to join the rest of them at the beach soon.

Beside her, Këyal sang softly in the ancient language –

_Graveyard of lovers' hopes_

_Yet as sweet as a summer breeze_

_Stronger than the blackest storm_

_As alluring as an elven maiden_

_The royal blue ocean, she lets none forget her, none escape her . . ."_

She choked down a chuckle. He was like this every time they came. She understood his fascination a little, though, for she had never seen the sea before coming to the Hall, and its restless yet graceful motion always seemed to mesmerize her. Although certainly not enough to try and swim in it – like Ravûn, Sorya, and Zelíe, she didn't know how to swim.

She stretched, wishing she could lie down. It was a nice day. Summer hadn't started properly yet, so it wasn't too hot, and a frisky, salty breeze pulled at her hair and clothes . . . it was a day to lie back and relax. But of course, if she lay down here, she would have to spend a couple of hours later brushing the sand out of her hair.

She closed her eyes, allowing Celesté's consciousness to tug at hers. She felt the tug of the wind, a drop in her stomach as Celesté dived, and Celesté's euphoria at catching Jethran unawares as she pounced on him from above and closed her jaws at the base of his skull – a killing strike in combat, meaning that he was out of the game. Dara grinned. She had no clue what the dragons were playing – it seemed to be a cross between tag and open combat – but her dragon was evidently enjoying it a lot. Jethran's disappointed growl at Celesté marking him was like thunder in her ears, and she shared Celeste's pride in her achievement as she watching Jethran pay the penalty of the game; he dived almost straight down into the ocean, joining Lifaen and Corinne.

She watched as Mánya was taken out by Drëya. All the small ones seemed to have the advantage in this game . . .

Dara remained an unobtrusive presence at the back of Celesté's mind, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face along with the thrill of flying, and let her mind wander. She lazily picked up stray echoes of thoughts in Celesté's mind, like someone browsing in a bookshop . . .

And found something quite interesting.

She opened her eyes and turned to Akhtar.

"Aki?"

"Yes?" he rumbled.

"How come you're not talking to Osra?"

He frowned at her. "I am. I do."

"You haven't much, recently."

He shrugged and faced forward again. To anyone else he would look impassive, but Dara knew him well, and she could see that he was uncomfortable.

"Come on, tell me." She prodded him in the ribs. "Did you two fight or something?"

He swatted her hand away. "No, we did not. Why are you so concerned about this all of a sudden?"

"I was just wondering . . ." She gave him her most innocent look.

He growled low in his throat and shook his head slightly, as though trying to shake away a swarm of flies. "Well, there's nothing to worry about."

She dropped the coquettish act. "All right, I believe you. But you know you can tell me anything, right?"

He squirmed a little. "Yes."

"Good." She stretched again and watched the waves, seeming to fall into a reverie.

Akhtar looked down at her and sighed internally. She was practically his best friend – which had surprised even him. It certainly wasn't normal for a human to accept an Urgal like she had done, and he had always liked and respected her for it. When she'd first met him, she'd been a little scared, of course, but more curious, and she had succeeded in breaking down the barrier he'd built around himself. She'd been his most trusted friend. He could not, in good conscience, keep this from her.

He sighed. "Osra and I locked horns," he said quietly.

She turned to look at him. "Locked horns? Like a fight?"

"No, not in a fight." He avoided her eyes.

"Then- " Her eyes widened. "Oh. _Oh. _Really?"

"Yes, but not like that! It was an accident."

"How was it an accident?"

"I asked her something and she was looking at a scroll with me and somehow our horns got entangled."

She raised her eyebrows a little at this less-than-satisfactory explanation. "So what did she do?"

"She ran away. And now . . . she doesn't avoid me completely, sometimes talking is unavoidable . . . but she has become very curt. She avoids my eyes when we _do_ speak. It would be easier if she would either forget about it or talk about it, but she refuses to do either."

He stopped when he saw the small, triumphant smirk on her face.

"You knew!"

She laughed. "Not really. I just found a thought in Celeste's mind that had to do with locking horns."

If he could have blushed right then, he would have.

_Why did you tell Celesté, Jethran?!_

He was ignored. Oh, that dragon was in so much trouble . . .

He crossed his arms and looked away with a huff. Dara nudged his side.

"Don't be angry, Aki. No harm done, yes?"

He growled low in his throat, still refusing to look at her. She looked up at him with big eyes. "I'm really very sorry. I just wanted to know what was bothering you."

Gods above, he hated that piteous voice!

He growled again, but this time in frustrated resignation. "Very well. You're forgiven," he sighed.

Her face glowed as she smiled and gave his arm a quick squeeze.

In front of them, Sorya shrieked as she stumbled and fell headlong into the water. Osra pulled her up with a small smile as the dwarf sputtered and coughed, dripping wet, while Ravûn rocked with laughter. As he watched Osra steady Sorya, he felt his face relaxing out of its scowl - even though he knew Dara was watching him closely.

"You miss her," she said quietly.

He nodded once, slowly, not looking at her.

"She'll come around, don't worry. She's just shy."

"Osra, shy?" he scoffed.

"Well, yes. It was more embarrassing for her than you, I think. Just be normal, and give her the time she needs. She's too levelheaded to worry about this forever, you know."

He grunted.

She didn't pester him after that. They sat in companionable silence, watching the other Riders splash around in front of them and listening to Këyal's singing, until Ikraan and Lifaen dropped to the beach.

Senshi and Caspian dismounted together. As he watched them, Akhtar had an odd idea - they seemed to be entirely synchronised. The adjusting of their saddle straps, the glances they gave each other, with unspoken questions and quick answers, it all seemed to be done in perfect, unconscious unison. It wasn't that they knew what the other would do; rather, it seemed as though their minds were . . . what was the word? . . . ah . . . resonating. He wondered, if they all meditated together, would they all do the same thing at the same time? That could be rather unsettling.

Senshi came over and settled on the sand near them, with a smile and a nod. Akhtar bared his throat in return. Caspian went to the other side, next to Këyal, and immediately started an animated conversation with him.

"Good morning, Dara, Akhtar," Senshi said.

"Good morning, Senshi. Your meditation went well?" Dara said.

"Well enough," she said. "Caspian finally understands how to meditate properly. Why don't you two join us sometime? It helps release magic, you know, if you exceed the quota Master has set."

Akhtar saw Dara's mouth twist a little. He frowned heavily at Senshi, who realised what she'd said and hurried to cover it up. "Not that your magic won't come soon enough, but meditation helps accelerate the process. Besides, it helps you learn how to fight and defend with your mind."

"Thank you, we will surely join you. Will we not, Dara?"

Dara nodded. "We'll come with you tomorrow."

Senshi touched his mind tentatively.

_My apologies. I forgot that she is sensitive about her inability to use magic._

_Given her ancestry, it is not surprising that she should be sensitive about it._

_Aye, I know . . ._

_It's all right, there was no harm done._

Senshi gave him a grateful glance and withdrew.

"By the way, I'd wanted to ask you something," Dara said. Caspian turned to listen, breaking off his conversation with Këyal, which had been rather one sided anyway.

"Excluding your own, which dragon do you think looks the best?"

There was a collective intake of breath.

Dara looked around, grinning."Don't be shy, now. Cas, why don't you go first?"

"Um . . . Well . . . You can't choose between dragons, they all look so beautiful-"

"All right, say the first name that pops into your head."

"Celesté?" he said apologetically.

Dara's grin became smug. "Aki, you're next."

He shot her a look. "Layla."

She stuck her tongue out at him before turning to Këyal. "Këyal?"

"Ikraan," he said without any hesitation.

Akhtar saw Senshi blink. "Thank you, Këyal." He inclined his head with a small smile.

Dara was surprised and delighted, and she gave him a huge smile. "Okay! Senshi, you're last."

"Well . . . I would actually say Rosalie."

Now everyone looked surprised. "Rosalie?" Caspian echoed blankly.

"Just because I don't like her Rider doesn't mean I can't think she's beautiful, right?"

Nobody knew quite what to say as Senshi defiantly stared around at them all. Finally, Këyal broke the silence with, "Not that this hasn't been interesting, but can we _please _go swimming now?"

The tension broke as they all laughed and stood up. "Këyal, I'm not going in past that rock-" Dara began before breaking off with a squeal as he picked her up, slung her over one shoulder and took off into the surf. Her indignant yelling was drowned out by Caspian and Senshi's hysterical laughter. Akhtar laughed as well as he followed them to the water. It might be hard living so far away from home, he mused, but there was much to be said for the friendship of these quirky and kind Riders.

_That afternoon_

They all lay sprawled on various benches - and in Senshi and Dara's case, on the floor - in the Garden, tired and happy after a morning spent at the beach.

Osra yawned massively. "Whose turn is it to cook dinner today?"

Sorya, Senshi and Kitai raised their hands. Osra groaned. "Oh no . . . twins, please don't make the food too spicy."

"But I like their food," Caspian objected. "Especially that rice with all the cloves and cinnamon . . . mmm, my mouth is watering right now."

"I agree," Ravun said. "I never knew how many delicious vegetarian dishes you could make before these two started cooking."

Kitai grinned. "Thank you. Don't worry, Osra, we'll reduce the amount of chilli this time."

Zelíe, who had been curled up on a bench with her head on her arms, opened them suddenly. "Kit, you were going to show us something today!" she exclaimed.

"You just remembered now?" He pulled her ear affectionately. She laughed. "Go get whatever it is."

Kitai got to his feet and walked quickly out of the room.

The rest of them quietened down, waiting for Kitai to come back. After about fifteen minutes, Këyal frowned and cocked his head.

"What is it?" Akhtar asked.

"I'm not sure. It's a kind of . . . whirring noise . . . it's getting closer-"

Before he could finish his sentence, tall shape whizzed past them and out of the circle so fast that they barely realized what had happened.

They exchanged blank glances. "What on earth-" Sorya began, but the shape came back the other way. Senshi shouted after it, "Kitai, stop showing off and come here!"

After a few seconds, Kitai rolled back into the circle, his hair windswept and a wild grin on his face. And on his feet were-

"Are those shoes with _wheels_?" Dara asked, her eyes wide.

Before Kitai could do more than open his mouth, a babel broke out -

"How did you make them?"

"They look terrible!"

"They look amazing!"

"Oh, can I try?"

"I want to try first!"

"No, I get to try first!"

"Kitai, I'll do garden duty for you for two weeks."

"Kitchen duty for three weeks!"

"Cleaning duty for-"

"All right, all right! Stop yelling, all of you! I made five pairs. Work out how you'll share them between yourselves."

Sorya noticed Akhtar snort softly to himself and cross his arms. Kitai seemed to notice as well, for he glanced at him before he continued.

"I designed a pair for Urgals and dwarfs, too. Here, Sorya, Aki." He tossed it to them and they caught them.

Sorya looked the strange shoes over curiously. They were iron capped boots with a wooden platform screwed to the sole. The axle and the four wheels were made of wood reinforced with strips of metal. A small topaz was embedded in the toe of the left boot.

"What's that for?" she asked, pointing at it.

"That's to store energy to give you bursts of speed, if you need them."

"These are meant for use only in the Hall, right?"

"Of course. Only on smooth surfaces. In the forest, for instance, it would be nothing but a dangerous hindrance."

"Hmm." She turned it over and spun a wheel. "What are they called?"

"I couldn't come up with a name for them. I hoped you all would help me do that."

Again, the babel started up.

"Speed boots!"

"No, rolling shoes."

"Rolling shoes? Really? I vote for wheel boots."

"Sliders!"

"Rollers!"

Sorya ignored them all and slid her feet into them. She kicked her feet a little. They felt rather nice. She stood shakily, with one hand outstretched to grab the bench if she fell, and paused to test her balance. Then she took one wobbling step forward. And another. And another . . . and fell ungracefully on her face.

A firm hand grasped her arm and helped her stand up. "They do take some getting used to, don't they," Kitai said kindly.

She grinned sheepishly in reply.

"You need a kind of gliding motion. Go to the left . . . and to the right." He demonstrated. "Like that."

She tried it and quickly got the hang of it. Soon she was skating around the room, perhaps not as smoothly as Kitai, but certainly better than Dara and Zelíe. She did four circuits of the room, avoiding the people trying to waylay her and try the shoes themselves, before handing the boots over to Ravûn, who was raring to try.

"Like them?" Kitai asked with a twinkle.

"I love them," she grinned back. "And I thought of a name too. Skaters?"

"Skaters . . . hm. Well, it's definitely better than 'rolling shoes'. Skaters it is!" he said, before darting away to help Zelíe, who was frantically flailing her arms and was about to collide with Akhtar.

Sorya chuckled to herself and tucked her legs underneath her body as she settled in to enjoy the scene of noisy mirth unfolding in front of her.

_That evening, before dinner_

Saphira yawned and settled her head on the floor.

Eragon sighed.

The ten young Riders and their dragons waited patiently as he rubbed his temples. They could all see the dark circles under his eyes, and none of them wished to add to his stress, though all of them were very curious about why he had called this meeting.

Eragon started off slowly. "I talked to Queen Arya lately, and she told me of a very disturbing occurrence in Alagäesia. I've racked my brains, but I can't think of any plausible reason for it . . . So I decided to tell you. She does not approve, but it will be a good exercise for you, and one of you may even find the answer.

"So, to state the problem baldly, the children of Alagäesia are disappearing. That is, someone is taking them. Children of nobles or from families known to have Rider ancestry seem to be the most desirable targets, and among the children taken is the young Prince Charles." A murmur of horror rippled around the room, and Saphira rumbled low in her throat. "Yes. I believe he was only four years old. King Orrin is very worried, to put it mildly, and he has provided his two year old daughter, Annalise, and Queen Julia with their own personal guard.

"The majority of the children taken are human, but dwarf and Urgal children are also among them. No elven children have been taken, however, because of the spells protecting Du Weldenvarden, but Queen Arya is very worried. She has been working on increasing elven security. All in all, nearly a quarter of Alagäesia's children have been taken, and the people are growing frantic. Their children are their future, and they are being torn away . . ." He paused before speaking again.

"What I would like you to do is try and think of a reason that anyone would do this, and how we can stop them."

The room was silent for a minute. Then Osra spoke in her deep voice, "Were there any demands? Could this be for a kind of ransom?"

"That is the most puzzling part of the whole situation. There have been no demands or threats at all."

Caspian spoke up, his tone grave. "Was there a common factor? That is, was there something all the children had in common?"

"There does not seem to be. If there is, though, we certainly haven't found it yet. The only thing that seems obvious is that more children from the upper classes were taken, which would point to ransom, yet as I said before -"

"- there have been no threats or demands." Senshi completed.

"Aye."

There was another short silence before Sorya spoke up hesitantly. "Master, I've thought of something . . . it may be ridiculous, but-"

"Not at all. Tell us, Sorya."

"Well . . . kidnapping is generally to extort something from a powerful person. But as you said, there have been no demands from this person or organisation. Therefore, it must be that the children themselves have some inherent value . . . now, or in the future."

"Your meaning?" Eragon leant forward in his chair.

"The immediate effect is people panicking. The fact that children are involved indicates that this adversary is trying to destabilise the land in an especially effective and fear-inducing way.

"But fear could be achieved by attacks and by terror. Children themselves are malleable. Easy to influence. A three year old child brought up by a remnant of the old empire, who has learnt to call them her family . . . will she even recognize the soldier she has been turned into? Besides, perhaps these people have no demands _at present_. Perhaps the children are insurance to them, to ensure that they have an ace to force our hand if they need to."

A deep frown creased Eragon's brow. "I do not wish to ridicule your idea, Sorya, but it seems to me that only an insane person would think like that."

Sorya held his gaze steadily. "Exactly, Master. Insane, dangerous people were not too scarce a few many years ago."

His brow cleared as he understood, to be replaced by a look of horror. He did not need Kitai's interjection, "Master, this could very well be the work of those enemies I told you of. Those still loyal to Galbatorix."

"Yes," he murmured, looking at Saphira, whose muzzle was slightly creased. "I understand. I hope that you are wrong, Sorya, but I fear that you are not . . . Very well. I thank you. Your idea shall be passed on to the leaders of Alagäesia. Now, can you all help me come up with solutions to this? Ways to prevent more children from being taken, and ways to find the ones already gone."

"Master, the name of names?" Këyal suggested quietly.

The newer students looked confused, while Eragon drew in a long breath.

"We have tried, Këyal. We have not succeeded, I know not how."

A soft groan rose from the six older ones. Dara tugged at Këyal's sleeve. "Këyal, what-?"

"I'll tell you later," he muttered, removing her hand.

They came up with quite a few ideas - magical trackers on each child that would inform any Empire-approved magician exactly where he or she was at any given time; a registry of every child, so they could track how many children vanished in a given period of time; 'safe spots' scattered around cities where any adult with a malicious intention towards a child could not enter; and so on.

"Although," Ravûn quietly confided to Caspian after Eragon dismissed them, "with Queen Nasuada's anti-magic laws I doubt that anything we thought of today will be of much use."

After they were done, Sorya noticed Senshi linger and raised a questioning eyebrow. Senshi nodded and held up a finger, so Sorya waited. When everyone had left except Eragon, Senshi crept quietly back into the room.

"Master?"

He looked up. "Yes, Senshi?"

"If there are any dreams still troubling you, please tell me. I know of some herbs that can help."

He looked surprised. "Why would you think that the dreams are still troubling me?"

"Master, you look like you haven't slept in weeks. I've seen people affected by this before. I know what these," she motioned to the circles under his eyes, "mean."

He let his face relax into a smile. "Was I that obvious or did I just underestimate how perceptive you are?"

She opened her mouth uncertainly, and he chuckled at her expression before saying, "Thank you very kindly for your offer, miss." He gave her a small wink, and she grinned shyly. He continued in a more serious tone. "I would appreciate your help. The dreams have not gone away completely as yet."

She nodded. "I'll get them by tomorrow morning."

He nodded in return, and she went back out to Sorya, and they went to lay the table together.

Këyal walked quietly down the corridor, lost in thought; so quietly, in fact, that he startled a mouse, who scurried away as fast as she could.

He was very worried about what Eragon had told them, more worried than he would admit to anyone else. And what worried him the most was the fact that the name of the ancient language had not worked. That had to mean that they were dealing with an enemy of considerable strength and resource. And if it continued like this . . .

He looked up as he heard footsteps. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone right now, so he slipped into a shadow and stood still, hoping whoever it was would pass by quickly.

It turned out to be two people, in fact; Kitai and Zelíe. Kitai had an arm close around Zelíe's trim waist, and they were talking in low tones.

" . . . that it might continue?" Zelíe said in her soft voice.

"Whether it does or not, there is nothing we can do to affect it from here, and worrying your pretty little head about it won't help those children any, sweetheart."

"I can't just forget about it!"

Këyal looked at her critically. In the dull light, with her eyes pleading and worried and lips pursed, he thought she looked prettier than when she'd first come, with her rose leaf complexion and curly gold hair. Now her hair had faded to flax and was usually tossed into a bun; her complexion was browned beyond repair; her forearms were unbecomingly muscled; and she wore rough cotton pants and tunics when before she must have been gowned in the most sumptuous dresses money could buy - but she was somehow more beautiful.

Kitai looked at her tenderly. "You don't have to forget about it. Just don't _worry_ about it. All right? We will come up with more solutions together, I promise you."

"But-"

With a sudden growl, Kitai picked her up by the waist and spun her around. She yelped in surprise and then laughed, throwing her head back. Kitai grinned at her delight and slowly let her slide down until her feet were back on the ground and she fell into his chest.

Breathless, she looked up into his face. "Not a very effective distraction if -" She trailed off as he pinched her chin and gently raised her eyes to his. She gave him an exasperated look, but he seemed to be intent on absorbing the details of her face.

Her eyes softening, she grasped his wrist with one hand and stood on the balls of her feet, touching her lips to his.

Këyal heard Kitai's intake of breath as loudly as if he had been standing next to the two.

Kitai's left arm went back around her waist, and he leaned forward, supporting her weight and causing her to lean back.

Only a few seconds passed before Zelíe broke away and Kitai carefully leaned back with a sigh.

"Wasn't that an effective distraction?" he murmured in her ear.

She gave him a teasing look."Not especially . . ."

"Well, my room is only two doors down."

She twisted his ear, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. "No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes." He bent, slid an arm behind her knees, and swept her off her feet in the span of two seconds. She clutched at his neck with another yelp, taken unawares.

"Kitai, put me down!"

He smiled and started to walk fast.

"Kitai, I swear, if you don't put me down right now-"

He pushed open the door to his room with his hip and went inside. Këyal heard a muffled shriek and a thump as Zelíe hit the bed. Then Kitai came to the door, shot a quick look down the corridor, and went back inside, closing the door with a soft click.

Këyal blinked.

He shook his head as he started to walk again. He wasn't quite sure what he felt about what he had just seen. It was embarrassing, of course, to see the two behaving so intimately., and then there was guilt at having watched them. There was also a certain warm feeling. They looked . . . kind of . . . adorable . . . together.

And, perhaps . . . jealousy?

No, not jealousy. Curiosity was better. Curiosity about what it would feel like to be as intimate with someone. To have someone to care about you, comfort you, and make sure you were all right . . . and to love someone that much as well; wouldn't it be wonderful?

He reached the staircase and began to climb.

Of course, letting someone that deep into your heart would put them in a perfect position to stab you. But then, love was all about trust. It was kind of like leaning on someone who was also leaning on you. You trusted them even as they trusted you, and if one of you broke the trust the both of you would fall.

He reached the fifth floor and walked to his room.

If he had to choose someone like that - a mate, a partner, a lover, whatever it was called - who would it be?

He thought of and discarded most of the girls back home. He could not see himself with any of them. Then who else?

Of the girls at the Hall, the human ones were Senshi and Zelíe. Zelíe was instantly discarded, for obvious reasons. Senshi too. He did not understand her, nor she him. Besides, he would prefer not to have a human as his lover.

Which left only Dara.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. Dara. Now that was an intriguing thought. She certainly was someone he could relate to. She had elven blood, she was intelligent, she was- his mouth quirked- quite ridiculously adorable . . . and she was pretty. Although that wasn't an immensely important factor for him.

He shook his head and entered his room. It was an intriguing thought, but just a thought. A relationship of that kind could prove dangerously distracting. He was perfectly happy with Layla.

_Why, thank you, Këyal._

He smiled at her as he climbed into bed, and fell asleep with her deep humming reverberating in his chest.

_He ran faster than he had ever run before. Sweat coursed down his back and face. He was escaping something, he didn't know what, but he had to escape. _

_He swerved and stumbled down a hill, crashing through underbrush. Whatever was chasing him was gaining on him, he could feel it. _

_He skidded to the right at the bottom of the hill and saw the entrance to a cave. With a gasp, he flung himself towards it._

_He lurched inside and pressed himself against the wall, panting. His heart pounding in his throat, he waited for what seemed like an interminable amount of time._

_Then he heard a scraping sound near the back of the cave. He whirled around, shouted, "Naina!"_

_Dara blinked up at him._

_For a long second, they stared at each other, he poised for flight by the mouth of the cave, she curled up near the back, hugging her knees, looking at him in surprise._

_Then she smiled._

_And . . . _

_. . . the world was all right._

_The danger outside faded. Vanished. Her smile had obliterated it. His heart slowed down, his body relaxed. With her, he was safe. He could feel that as a truth, deep in his bones._

_He walked over to her, crouched down. He was sweaty and bloody, and he knew he must stink, but she looked as fresh as a flower, not a hair out of place. And she was smiling at him with so much love . . ._

_She reached out, placed a hand on his cheek. Gently. Tenderly. Like she was making sure he was all right._

_The sense of comfort he felt when she touched him was something he had never experienced before. No one had ever given him such a sense of being loved._

_He looked down at her, eyes full of trust. She nodded slightly. Telling him she would take care of him-_

Keyal yawned widely. A stripe of early morning light had fallen across his bed. He blinked and squinted. He felt surprisingly good.

_Good morning, Layla!_

_Good morning. _

_Have you been awake long?_

_Only half an hour past . . . That was quite the dream you had last night._

_What dream?_

She stayed quiet. Frowning, he searched his mind. What dream? He hadn't had any-

The memory hit him like a rampaging bull.

"Oh no," he whispered out loud, eyes wide with horror. "Oh no, oh no, oh no-"

_I always knew you liked her, _Layla said smugly.

"I don't! I never did! I don't, I don't . . ." Moaning, he turned over and buried his face in his pillow.

Layla went back to licking her paw, chuckling to herself. This was going to be interesting.


	17. Chapter 16: Love and ire

**A/N: New chapter! And I'm already working on the next one, too. It should be up in a week.**

**Enjoy!**

**Please review with your suggestions, too. And to the Guest who wanted me to do better, I hope this chapter is good enough.**

**It's kinda sappy, but there's an important development . . .**

Dara buried her head in her arms.

Zelíe gave her a sympathetic hug. "It'll come to you eventually. Just don't _worry _so much. Magic is about the heart as well as the mind - "

"But I want it more than anyone!" came a despondent wail.

"Dara, you're wonderful at everything else. You surpass us all at the ancient language, even Këyal, and your archery is perfect. Even the twins and Sorya can't compete with you, they admit it. Besides, your swordplay is improving daily, and you're one of the hardest workers. Just be patient. The magic will come when it comes . . . you can't rush it, kitten."

Dara's head shot up. "Not you too! Zelíe,_ don't_ call me that! Everyone is imitating that blasted boy now, and it's driving me insane!"

Zelíe tried to hide her smile. _Boy,_ she noted. Not _elf_.

"All right, all right," she said soothingly, wondering what to say next. Dara's head flopped back down, and she gave a muffled sob.

Caspian saved her. He tripped into the library, humming cheerfully, and stopped when he saw her. He looked from her to Dara and raised his eyebrows. She grimaced, and he nodded understandingly. He jerked his head slightly, indicating that he would talk to Dara, and Zelíe nodded gratefully.

She patted Dara on the back. "Caspian will sit with you for some time, all right?" she said softly.

Dara gave no indication she had heard. Zelíe rose quietly from her chair, exchanging a nod with Caspian on the way out. As she walked out, she wondered how glad she was that he had gotten over her. A pretty girl always knows who admires her, and Zelíe, being a nobleman's daughter, had fine-tuned that ability to quite an extent. She'd known he'd liked her almost as soon as she'd seen him, and she knew it had taken him months before his eyes no longer followed her around the room.

She shook her head. She was being silly. Of course she was glad that he had stopped mooning after her. It was better for him, and she had no reason to resent it except that his admiration had appealed to her ego – which is, of course, always enjoyable. But to grudge him his happiness was petty and selfish, and she certainly would not do so. She had Kitai, after all. She needed no one else.

Ͼ

"Dara?" Caspian said softly, sitting down next to her.

Dara raised her head. Her eyes and nose were red. She sniffed, her lips trembling.

"Oh . . . come here." He held his arms out.

She hugged him so hard he thought a rib cracked. He winced, but let her sniffle against his chest.

"I'm going to be the only Rider ever who can't use magic," she mumbled.

"Nonsense. You _will _be able to use magic, Dara." He switched to the ancient language. "You will. I know it."

She sniffed again, but seemed a little comforted by how strongly he believed his words.

"There are things we can do . . . we could ask Master to help you, tutor you - "

"No," she replied, using the ancient language as well. "He's already disappointed in me, confused about why I can't . . . I can't _ask_ him, I can't go and tell him that . . . that he's right, and I need extra help to discover magic, that I may never be able to use it at all- "

He could hear the hysteria rising in her voice, and he pulled her into a hug again, patting her back until she calmed down and her sobs were quiet.

"All right, then . . . then we can ask Këyal for help. He would be willing, wouldn't he?"

He paused, waiting for her reply, then realized that she had stiffened. She slowly moved away from him.

He frowned, confused. He had expected her to laugh in relief, to agree enthusiastically with the suggestion that her best friend would help her. Instead, she looked like her tears had stopped only because it was too painful to cry. Her eyes grew dull.

"No," she whispered.

He looked at her face, trying to understand. "What's wrong?"

She pulled her arms away too and buried her face in her hands.

Caspian waited patiently for her to control herself.

Eventually, she lifted her face and tried to smile. "Nothing's wrong."

The girl was a terrible liar. Even if she wasn't, the fact that she had stopped using the ancient language would have tipped him off.

He raised an eyebrow, and she gave a weak laugh. "Ugh. I'm a really bad liar."

He smiled a little, still waiting for her to continue.

She sighed, and spoke softly. "Këyal no longer counts himself my friend."

Caspian was shocked.

"Why?" he blurted out. She winced at the astonishment in his voice and looked down at her hands.

"Because . . ."

"Because?" he prodded.

She groaned and hid her face in her hands again.

"Dara-"

"Just-" she held up a finger, her face still hidden. "Just a minute."

He waited again, feeling utterly confused.

When she lifted her face, it was red. She was blushing. And her eyes were squeezed shut.

His mouth fell open. Dara didn't blush. She _never _blushed. Chasing people around and hitting them on the head was more like it . . . long hair notwithstanding, she was a tomboy.

What on earth had Këyal done?

She mumbled something.

"What?"

She took a deep breath and repeated herself louder, eyes still closed tightly.

"He's in love with me!"

Caspian managed to keep his voice steady, though he was reeling with surprise. Këyal had never struck him as a passionate declaration type of person . . .

"I don't see why he can't help you learn magic, then."

Her eyes flew to his face. "You knew?!"

"I'd always had a hunch, yes. But I didn't know he'd declared himself to you."

"Well, he did. About three weeks ago."

"Three weeks? But you two seemed normal - well, except that you were more quiet in the past week . . ."

"And you never wondered why he didn't try to talk to me? At all?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Not really . . ."

She sighed. He could see her lips beginning to tremble again.

"Tell me exactly what happened." He leaned forward, eager for details as well to stop her crying again.

She wiped her eyes. "Well . . . I could tell he was behaving a little differently with me a few months ago. It worried me a little, but I thought he would be all right again after some time, so I tried to ignore it. But it didn't go away . . . He had difficulty holding my gaze, yet he watched me when I wasn't looking. He was quick to notice when I was upset, and to cheer me up, but he grew evermore distant from me . . ." She was speaking quickly now, stumbling over the words, relieved to finally talk about this with someone.

"We fought more frequently. I couldn't understand why he was so different, and he didn't explain himself to me. How could he?

"There was one day, we had a huge fight, and I didn't talk to him for a few days. Afterwards, he came to me . . . he seemed calm, but I could see that he was upset. He said that he was sorry, and that he'd been a little different because he . . . loved me-" she choked a little, "and he'd been trying to ignore it, but he'd given up. And he was waiting for my response, and I couldn't say anything! Cas, I didn't say anything! The poor thing was waiting for me to reply, and I didn't- I couldn't- I just sat there like- argh!"

Caspian opened his mouth to interject, but she ignored him. "Finally, when he realized I couldn't answer, he gave me this sad smile - I felt terrible! Cas, you can't imagine the look on his face- and he said quietly, 'Can we go back to how it was, then?'

"I just nodded. And then I tried to make it like before, I swear, Cas, I really tried. But it was terribly awkward . . . and all I could think about was how much I was hurting him, every second I laughed or joked as though nothing had happened. I mean, if you loved someone, and your love was unrequited, and then the person just acted as though nothing had happened, wouldn't it hurt you?

"It was really bad, Cas. I felt so guilty. I just . . . I was never able to drop my guard with him, after he told me . . . Then, about a week ago, he came to me again and told me that he was sorry for ruining our friendship-" her voice rose in indignation, "that it was his fault, he realized his mistake now, and it would be better for both of us if we broke it off entirely. And before I could even _try_ to say anything, he went away."

Tears were streaming down her cheeks again. Whether they were tears of anger, sorrow, anguish, or some combination thereof, Caspian couldn't tell. Wisely, he did not comment on them.

"Well . . ." he said. "That's . . ."

"Stupid? Ridiculous? Incredibly idiotic?"

" . . . understandable."

"What?"

"Dara, he's trying to do the same as before, he's still trying to get over you. Only now he's found a valid reason to ignore you completely." He frowned as he thought. "Too valid . . . the change in you friendship probably hurt him a lot, too. I'm sure he really does think it will be best for you."

"How could he think that?" she burst out. "How could he think it would be better for me to lose one of my best friends?"

He eyed her curiously. "Do you have no feelings for him at all?"

She slumped back in her chair, wiping her tears away. "I love him as a friend, Cas. I don't think I love him any other way . . ." He noted the uncertainty. "And I can't tell him I do unless I myself am sure of it. But I need him for my happiness. Having him cut out from my life, I feel unbalanced. Maybe I _could_ grow to love him - in that way. I don't know. But right now . . ."

" . . . no," he said softly.

She nodded.

They sat in silence for a time, his hand mechanically grasping hers.

She broke it. "I really miss him." It was almost a whisper, dull with heartbreak. "I get this twisted feeling in my stomach when I see him and he acts like we've never met . . . But-" she sniffed, "if it helps him, I don't mind. I want him to be happy."

"Does he know how you feel right now? How upset you are?"

She shook her head fractionally. "I don't know."

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a quiet voice called his name.

"Caspian?"

Këyal appeared from behind a bookshelf.

"Master wants you to - oh."

He seemed uncertain. Then he gave Dara a polite smile, as though they were acquaintances. It looked almost effortless, but Caspian could see strain in Këyal's eyes as he took in the tear tracks on Dara's cheeks.

He turned away from her quickly, as if she ceased to exist after he smiled at her. "Master wants you give him your essay and discuss it with him."

Caspian hesitated, looking between the two of them. He saw that Dara's other hand was clutching the table so hard her knuckles were white

"Does it have to be now?" he asked, not taking his eyes away from her. He saw the wordless plea in them.

"Yes." Këyal's voice was curt.

Her hand tightened on his own.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed.

She sniffed, withdrawing her hand.

"Do you want me to send someone? Zelíe, Aki, Ravûn . . .?"

"No, I'll be fine," she said quietly. "I don't want to have to explain to them as well."

"All right." He gave her hand one last squeeze, and she gave him a weak smile.

He stood in one fluid motion. Këyal was carefully not looking at Dara, as though she was something indecent. They both left together. Caspian couldn't resist looking back over his shoulder one more time, and he saw that Dara had buried her head in her arms again.

He had to jog to keep up with Këyal's quick stride, but Këyal didn't seem to notice. They had covered almost a quarter of the distance when Këyal asked, "What was she crying about?"

The question was carefully offhand, but Caspian wasn't fooled. He debated whether to tell Këyal the truth. Këyal would undoubtedly be mortified to know that he, Caspian, knew, but that Këyal should know how badly Dara was hurt.

"Magic," he replied. "About her inability to use it."

Këyal nodded.

"And about you."

Këyal's stride faltered for an instant, but he smoothly covered it up. He never looked anywhere other than straight ahead.

"She told you?"

"Yes."

Këyal nodded again. Caspian waited for him to ask for further information, but he seemed perfectly unconcerned.

He let another five minutes pass before he spoke again.

"You're hurting her, you know."

Këyal still didn't say anything. Caspian saw his jaw clench

He said softly, "She misses you."

"She finds it uncomfortable to be around me." The words were like a whip.

"Because she thinks her presence wounds you," Caspian said calmly. "Not because her attitude towards you has changed in anyway. She blames herself-"

"What?" Këyal stopped dead. "Why?"

"She feels that she didn't respond to you properly when you confessed - rather, that her response hurt you. And also she thinks it's mostly her fault that you two were so uneasy around each other. She thinks she didn't try hard enough to, you know. Make things normal."

Këyal gaped at him.

"Is she wrong?"

"Of course she is!"

"Did her response to your declaration hurt you?"

Këyal winced, "I . . . yes. It did."

"Did you also find things awkward afterwards?"

"Yes, I did, but I thought that _she _was uncomfortable with me because she knew I . . . I loved her."

Caspian ignored his embarrassment. "She was, but only because she didn't know how not to hurt you."

"Hurt me?"

"Did you honestly want her to act like things were normal? Wouldn't that have hurt you, made you feel like she dismissed your emotions?"

"I would rather she dismissed my emotions than ruin what we had!"

"Then why are you ignoring her?"

"Because she obviously doesn't want to be around me anymore. I should have just kept my mouth shut-"

Caspian sighed. "Both of you are so confused . . . Listen, go talk to her. She only wants you to be happy. All right? That's the only reason she's going along with this whole ignoring thing, because she thinks it's what you want. But it's not. So tell her what she should do to make you comfortable."

"_My _comfort is not the question-"

"Gods above, do you understand her at all? _Her _comfort depends on _yours_!" Caspian looked at Këyal's confused face and sighed again.

"Doesn't it hurt you?" he said gently. "Seeing her every day, and knowing she doesn't return your affection?"

Këyal dropped his eyes. "It does. But losing the friendship we had hurts me a thousand times more."

"Tell her that, then. Explain that you only ignored her because you thought that was what she wanted. Losing your friendship hurt her just as much as it hurt you, you know."

Këyal nodded, still staring at the floor.

"You just want things back to the way they were, right?"

He nodded again.

"Tell her that as well. Tell her not to worry that anything she does will hurt you and make sure you emphasize that you just want her to be herself. All right?"

Këyal nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He looked up.

"Thank you,' he said sincerely.

Caspian grinned. "Good luck."

Këyal turned and almost ran back to the library. Caspian continued on to Master's study.

_I should just start a romantic help service, _he thought to himself.

_It wasn't so long ago that you yourself needed 'romantic help', _Lifaen said. He was on the beach with Celesté, Jethran and Corinne, watching Jethran and Celesté wrestle.

_You aren't going to join them?_ He asked, feeling the enthusiasm in his dragon.

_Corinne and I are next. Oh, a good point for your discussion would be that the rate of separation going up does not necessarily mean that people were happy in their marriages before - they might simply feel more freedom to leave unhappy marriages now._

Caspian smiled. _Thank you. Good luck!_

Lifaen stretched and growled. _It is she who needs the luck, not me! _he said as he pounced.

Caspian knocked at the study door, still grinning.

"Come in," Eragon called.

"Good morning, Master," Caspian said as he entered.

"Good morning, Caspian. You have your essay?"

Caspian held up his roll of parchment.

"Good." Eragon smiled and indicated the chair in front of him. "Sit down."

Caspian seated himself and handed over his essay.

"Master, before we begin, I'd like to talk to you about Dara."

Eragon set his essay on the desk. "Oh?"

"She's extremely worried and upset about her magic - or lack thereof. Is there anything you can do to help her?"

Eragon sighed. "I've tried, Caspian. I gave her the most advanced magic-awakening exercises the Old Riders have documented. She completed some of the tasks without magic, and the others she failed, but she didn't get frustrated enough to use magic. It seems that she needs an enormous amount of pressure to awaken her magic, like a genuine battle, and I am loath to apply that pressure unless she has received adequate training in other aspects of a Rider's education. I will continue to give her the tests, and to design my own, but it seems that her magic will awaken when it pleases . . . If she is still unable to use magic by the end of her time here I will ask her to go to Du Weldenvarden. The elves there might have suggestions. Have I addressed your concerns?"

"Yes, Master. Master, speaking of the end of our training . . . when do you think that will happen?"

"You are all learning at an extraordinary rate. I can confidently say that you should be through in one and a half to two years."

"Oh." Caspian settled back in his chair. Two years wasn't so bad.

"Shall we get to your essay, then?"

"Yes, Master."

Eragon picked up his essay and quickly skimmed through it, his eyebrows going up occasionally.

"Hmm." He set it down. "You know, you chose an unusual topic for your social paper in the first place, and you've chosen a rather contrary view as well. Everyone else would support the idea of the permanency of marriage and the preservation of virtue before it. Why did you choose to argue this way?"

"Well, I-"

The silver circle on Eragon's left wrist hummed.

"Excuse me," he said, frowning. He looked closer, and raised his eyebrows.

"What is it, Master?"

"Either Murtagh or Nasuada is attempting to contact me."

"Oh, may I come?" Caspian exclaimed. The conference room excited him as nothing else did.

Then he winced in anticipation of Eragon's denial. Why would he agree? It was probably a confidential communication.

But Eragon surveyed him thoughtfully as he pressed a finger to the vertical line under the glowing crown. "Yes, you may."

"I may?" he blurted out.

Eragon smiled. "Yes. Of course, if it is something not meant for your ears, I will have to ask you to leave. Are you all right with that?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Come, then."

Eragon rose gracefully, and they proceeded to the conference room. It was also on the third floor, so they reached it fast.

Murtagh was pacing back and forth in a mirror with an intricate crown carved at the top of its silver frame.

"Murtagh."

"Eragon!" Murtagh reached out as if to embrace him, then pulled back, remembering that it was only mirror-communication. Caspian looked at Eragon in time to see a faint grimace of pain appear on his face, but it was quickly smoothed away, to be replaced by a smile.

Murtagh glanced at Caspian, uncertain, then apparently decided that his communication was too urgent. He gave Caspian a quick smile before turning back to Eragon.

"I have news."

"About?"

"Those missing children."

Caspian felt as though he'd been mildly shocked. Eragon leaned forward, tense.

"What?"

"Some of them have come back!"

"What? How?"

"A group of them were found on the eastern side of the Edda River, near Hedarth, wandering the grasslands. They were utterly confused and exhausted. It was lucky that one of Orik's patrols chose that area to sweep, or else we might have been too late."

"Could they tell you who had taken them?"

"No - like I said, they were utterly confused. Besides, according to Orik's magicians, all memories pertaining to their kidnappers have been carefully excised. All they remember is a feeling of dread and fear that they associate with the past year."

"What kind of fear?" Eragon snapped. Caspian had never seen him so tense.

He didn't understand the question, but Murtagh did, for he replied immediately, "Fear of the dark, fear of being hurt, fear that they would never escape. Which points to imprisonment, perhaps underground - that would explain the dark - and threats of punishment or torture. Or perhaps they witnessed some kind of armed conflict."

Eragon paced back and forth. "Are they all alright now?"

"The ages of the children in the group ranged from three to fifteen. The older ones took care of the younger ones until they were rescued. They are all fine now, though traumatised, of course."

"How did they end up near Hedarth?"

"They don't remember."

"How many were returned? How many are still imprisoned?"

"The majority were returned - the children of rich and poor alike. However some - mainly the children with Rider ancestry and the children of influential nobles, whether dwarfish, human, or Urgal - have been retained."

"Is there no way to trace the people behind this?" Eragon asked.

"Our magicians are trying to come up with spells, but nothing seems to work."

Eragon paced for a few seconds more. "Tell them to try this-" he said a long line in the ancient language.

Murtagh listened intently, then nodded. "Smart."

"Was Prince Charles among the returned group?"

A shade passed over Murtagh's face. "No. Orrin is almost distracted with worry. He would turn over every stone in Alagaesia if he has to. In fact, that's exactly what he's trying to convince us to do - start a search radiating outwards from Hedarth."

"Mmm. It's not a bad idea. You might find clues, and it will show the people that every effort is being made to recover the children."

"I agree." Murtagh passed a hand through his thick dark hair.

"Have all the children been returned to their parents?"

"No, they were escorted by the patrol to Farthen Dur. They're still there now. They are undergoing treatment for any injuries they have. I and Arya are to personally escort them back - I leave in an hour. I just wanted to inform you first."

"Thank you. Contact me again when you reach Farthen Dur. I suggest you search the children's minds yourself; you might find something."

"I will." A man called Murtagh's name frantically; he turned involuntarily, then looked back. "Gods, this has upset the country, and no mistake . . . I must go, Eragon."

"Aye. Fly safe. Guard the children well."

"I will. Farewell."

"Farewell."

The last image was of Murtagh striding hastily through the door, his cape swishing behind him.

Eragon groaned in frustration, still pacing. "And I'm stuck here," he muttered.

Caspian kept quiet.

Another mirror began to shimmer - Queen Arya's. Eragon turned to it quickly.

"Eragon!" Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes distracted. "I don't have much time. I have to tell you-"

"Murtagh told me. The children in Farthen Dur, found near Hedarth, you leave now to escort them home."

"Yes," she sighed. "Well, if you already know-"

"Do not tarry. Fly swift and fly true, Arya."

She smiled, kissed her fingertips, pressed them to the glass, and hurried out.

Eragon sighed, still bouncing with nervous energy. He beckoned to Caspian, and they walked out of the room together.

"Can you think of why this might have happened?" he asked Caspian.

Caspian shook his head, utterly bewildered. When the kidnappers had done their job so well, why would they deposit a majority of the children in the middle of nowhere a year after the initial kidnapping?

"Well . . ." Eragon ran his hand through his hair. "Well, we can't do anything from here. Gather the others and the elves in the dining hall. They should know about this."

Caspian nodded, turned, and ran for the others, his head still spinning.

Ͼ

Senshi looked up in surprise.

"Oh, Sorya."

Sorya looked around, startled. "Hello, Senshi." Her arms were full of scrolls.

"Research for your essay?"

"Yes, I'm almost done. Um . . . You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"

"Not at all." She cleared some space on the table, and Sorya sat down.

"Which topic did you choose?"

"The one about the gods . . . evidence for their existence, and the implications whether they exist or not, based on the evidence I present."

"Which side are you choosing?"

"I'm actually remaining neutral. It's quite easy to argue either way. So since my evidence is inconclusive, I'm examining the implications of their existence as well as their non-existence."

"Hmm. Quite a heavy topic."

Sorya nodded.

For a few minutes, they both bent to their work. Then Senshi said, "Sorya, if you don't mind me asking . . . is everything all right between Akhtar and Osra now?"

"Yes, it is. How did you know about that, though?"

"Dara told me when I asked her. How did _you_ know?"

Sorya smiled. "Dara."

She bent to her work again. Senshi watched her, nibbling on the end of her quill nervously.

"And . . . Sorya?"

"Yes?" The dwarf looked up, a hint of impatience in her eyes.

"Your brother, Dornenn . . . is he . . . all right now? Taken care of?"

Sorya looked astonished. She answered after a pause, "Why, yes. Yes, he's fine. A friend of my mother took him in, and my uncle has been punished. It took a few months, though, for everything to be finalized."

Senshi smiled. "That's good. I'm glad."

"Thank you . . . Why did you suddenly wonder about Dornenn?"

"I actually wanted to ask you about him for a while now, but I kept forgetting."

"No, but why is his welfare important to you?"

Senhsi looked a little confused. "Well, not important, exactly, but it was wrong, what happened to you and him." She smiled a little wryly. "A story like that tends to stick in the mind somewhat. After the court you didn't tell anyone what happened, what Íorûnn said, and I've been curious. I know it's a little late for me to be asking, but I wanted to make sure he's all right."

"Oh."

"You didn't mind me asking, did you?" Senshi said a shade anxiously. Sorya was a little unpredictable; you never knew what might annoy her.

"No, of course not. It was kind of you to ask after him."

Sorya smiled at her, and Senshi smiled back.

"I really love your hair, by the way. It's a gorgeous color. How do you keep it when it's so long?"

Sorya blushed a little. She had just opened her mouth to answer when Caspian burst in.  
"Senshi - Sorya - dining room now - it's about the kidnapped children," he panted.

"Wha-?"

"Just go!" He ran in the direction of the library.

They exchanged bemused glances, then got up to go.

Ͼ

_About twenty minutes earlier_

Këyal walked nervously into the library, wondering what he should say. He crept to her side. Her head was still in her arms. "Dara?" he said tentatively.

She looked up, her expression simultaneously anguished and defiant. Her nose was red, and tears were still streaming down her face.

Këyal forgot everything he'd been planning to say.

"Oh, kitten . . ." He moved to hug her.

She'd jerked away from him, but when she heard her nickname, a fresh sob broke out involuntarily.

He hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry," he said quietly, in the ancient language.

She was still sobbing. He held her until she cried herself out.

"How come-" she hicupped. She moved back to look at his face. "How come you're talking to me?" She used the ancient language as well, and he replied in kind.

"Caspian . . . explained things to me. Kitten, I only ignored you because I thought that it was what you wanted . . . that you didn't want to be near me anymore. Trust me, it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do-"

"How could you think that?" She punched him weakly. "How could you ever think that?"

"I- well, because things were terrible after I told you- told you how I felt. You couldn't even look me in the eye!"

"Because I was worried about how you felt, not because I stopped liking you!"

"Why didn't you ask me how I felt, then?"

She twisted her hands together. "Because- because I was embarrassed, alright? And I didn't want to bring up the topic. I thought that would hurt you the most."

Këyal buried his head in her shoulder and made a choked sound that sounded like he'd tried to laugh and groan at the same time. Dara laughed weakly as well.

Këyal took a deep breath, moved back, and held Dara's shoulders.

"Dara, I don't want you to worry about me. The only thing that will make me happy is _you_ being happy, and not treating me any differently. You are my best friend, and I don't want to lose that friendship. Just please forget that I ever told you that I think of you any other way."

She looked up at him a little sadly. "Doesn't it hurt you that I don't return your feelings?" she asked softly. "If I were in your position, it would hurt me."

He hesitated. "It does, yes. But I'd rather be hurt like that than lose you altogether, than have you think of me any differently. So don't worry about hurting me. Just think of me as your best friend again. That's the only thing that will help me. Alright?"

She hesitated as well. "If you're sure . . ."

"I am. And don't worry that I'll try to kiss you or something, either."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course. I know you better than that, silly."

He grinned, relieved. "Of course you do, kitten."

"Urgh. You're never going to give up on that, are you?"

"I actually feel more comfortable calling you 'kitten' rather than 'Dara', you know? I've gotten so used to it. 'Dara' just feels strange now."

"Well, I'll have to come up with a nickname for you as well."

"Sure, you can try. You're very bad at that kind of stuff."

"I am not!"

He laughed again, a mixture of mirth and relief. They were back to normal. He'd missed Dara glaring at him with that mixture of exasperation and amusement.

He saw a tear twinkling on her right cheek, and quickly reached out and wiped it away. She smiled. Another balloon of relief bubbled up within him as he saw her eyes were normal now.

"No tears about this again, yes?"

"Yes," she murmured.

"And don't be worried to bring up this topic again."

"Alright."

"Promise?"

"Yes, Këyal," she said, looking down demurely. He saw the corner of her mouth twitch and didn't bother to fight back his smile.

"Now, we have to work on your magic, don't we?"

He regretted the sentence as soon as it felt his mouth; it was sure to remind her of her distress.

But no, she was smiling broadly, her dark brown eyes glowing.

"Yes, we do."

Caspian came in just then, panting heavily.

"Sorry for interrupting-" He paused when he saw their faces. "Oh good! Everything worked out then. Listen, there's been more news about the kidnapped children. Master wants everyone in the dining hall now. If you see anyone else on your way, send them as well, alright?"

He ran off, leaving a shocked silence behind him. Këyal was the first to move.

"Let's go," he said crisply.

Dara got up, all merriment wiped from her face. Her expression was set, anxious. Këyal felt exactly the same.

Without a word, they hurried towards the dining hall, reconciled and as one once more.

Ͼ

Rosalie balanced on an updraft, pleasantly aware that the setting sun made her pink scales sparkle gloriously. But that was at the back of her mind; she was mostly listening to her Rider telling her about the meeting.

_. . . King Murtagh and Queen Arya are on their way to Farthen Dur now to escort the children back._

_And they were all fine?_

_Well, physically . . . mentally they were traumatised, of course. Master and King Murtagh think they were held underground. _Zelíe shuddered._ Imagine being imprisoned for almost a year underground, fearing for your life. It's a wonder none of them went mad._

Rosalie swung her tail around to adjust their course. _These are the strangest kidnappers I've ever heard of. Why would they go to the trouble of kidnapping so many in the first place when they were just going to let two thirds of them go home again?_

_You think none of us thought of that? _Zelíe snapped.

Rosalie was surprised, but she tried to ignore it._ Well . . . what of the search? Did they find anything near Hedarth?_

_Nothing._

_Maybe it was a way of throwing people off their scent. I mean, if any of the previous searches got anywhere close, it would have made them nervous and this might be a way for them to confuse the location of their base . . . but it's certainly a strange way to-_

_I know, Rose! We went over this over and over again! Don't you have anything new to contribute?_

Rosalie withdrew from her a little.

Don't _snap at me like that._

_Try to say something useful, then!_

_Zelíe, stop it. I understand that you're upset, but please don't take it out on me._

Her stern tone had its effect. Zelíe forced some of her agitation back.

_I'm sorry. Sorry. It's just . . . frustrating. I knew some of the children personally. And you know that I'm like an elf about children, too. I just want to _do _something._

_Well, unless you can find them when even the name of names cannot, there's no point in getting upset about it. They'll have to take their chance. There's nothing you can do._

_How can you be so cold?_

You _are getting too excited. So they dumped some children. Probably they got tired of them or couldn't feed them. In fact, this is good news. It shows that these kidnappers are not cruel. Most humans would have simply slaughtered the lot._

_Rose, stop it! You don't have to punish me, all right? I said I was sorry!_

_I'm not punishing you. Zelíe, you are incapable of looking at this clearly because of your intense love for children and the desire to have one of your own. I empathise with you. But you have to calm down. Don't overreact because it was children who were kidnapped._

_I am _not _overreacting!_

_Really? Would you feel so strongly if it was adult humans, dwarfs, and Urgals who had been taken, rather than their children?_

She didn't answer.

_No, you would not._

_. . . Whether they were children or not, lives still hang in the balance. I think it is you who is not reacting to this properly, Rosalie. And yes, I know there may be nothing I can do. But at least I'm willing to try._

Rosalie did not reply. It was pointless, since neither of them were willing to yield. In stony silence, she wheeled around, heading back to the Hall. Neither of them had any desire to prolong their flight anymore, and she knew Zelíe wanted to ask Master what she could do to help.

She landed, and Zelíe hurried off without a backward glance.

She was still roiling with irritation though, so she went to find someone to wrestle with. Palé agreed - boisterous little thing that he was - and they spent an agreeable hour rolling around on the soft-hard-shifting sand by the always-in-motion-water as the sun sank down gratefully and the first stars came out.


	18. Chapter 17: Dragon Day

**A/N: So much for one week . . . I really had started it, though, but the dragons' perspective is surprisingly hard to write from. ALl the guys who favorited or followed, thank you so much! 3 3**

_Six months later_

Drëya yawned, bored.

Ravûn was still eating breakfast, and she didn't have much to do today. Her training had technically been completed months ago. Battle flying, storm flying, endurance flying, fire breathing, deep diving, the ancient language, the Urgal language, the dwarven language, philosophy, history . . .

It seemed like a lot when she listed it out like that, she mused as she licked her claws, but it wasn't really much. It was only the human-things that were new. All the others were instinct for her, and (though she said so herself) she was pretty good at them.

_Of course you are_, Ravûn said with amusement as he wiped his plate clean.

She blew a cloud of smoke towards him. _Of course I am._

He chuckled. _Would you like to fly this morning?_

_Weren't you going to practice magic today?_

_Mmm . . . I'm feeling lazy. I'd much rather spend time you, delva._ A surge of affection for him welled up in her heart in response to the warmth of the color of his thoughts.

Just as she was about to reply in the affirmative, she felt the touch of Saphira's mind.

_Drëya, I want you to help me instruct the younglings in firebreathing in two hours._

_. . . Yes, ebrithil._

She felt disappointment reach her from Ravûn as Saphira left. _I'd hoped to have a good three hour flight with you . . ._

_In the evening. Fight well. S_he flicked her tongue out and caught him on the arm.

He placed a gentle hand on the side of her head for a moment, love emanating from his mind, before Eragon called to him to come to spar.

She rested her head on the ground with a huff. She had nothing to do for the next two hours . . . but weren't the young ones going to practice diving under Mánya? That would be something worth watching. She rose to her feet and padded off to a balcony where she would have a good view of the sea to the east and south, wondering if Ikraan and Corinne would murder each other this time.

Palé dived gleefully, the cool morning air howling in his ears.

_Whooo hoo! Come on, brother, you're falling behind!_

_Ha! You wish! _Ikraan levelled with him, wings tucked in close to his body. They dived together, neck and neck. Palé laughed to himself. He was going to win, he was sure of it-

_Whoosh_.

Corinne swooped past them, her white scales glittering like snow. In five seconds, she had scooped up the target from the ocean with her claws and leveled off, skimming over the waves at an incredible speed.

Both he and Ikraan howled with fury as they levelled off as well. _Damn it, Cori! _Ikraan roared. _That was our target!_

_Hahaha! _She dropped the target into the water and began to climb with a saucy flick of her tail. _You'll have to get up earlier than that if you want to beat me, boys!_

A narrow stream of darkly purple fire streamed from Ikraan's mouth, right in Corinne's path. As annoyed as he was, Palé couldn't help chuckling to himself at his hatch-mate's irritability.

Corinne swerved to avoid the fire and lost control, tumbling over and over into the snarled in triumph as he began to climb. _Serves you right, show off._

An outraged roar burst from the ocean underneath them, and Corinne started to climb as well, dripping wet. _I'll get you for that, you sorry son of a maggot ridden-_

_What did you say to me?!_

They clashed with a sound like thunder and ripped at each other, fire flickering dangerously in their open mouths.

_STOP IT. _Mánya dove between the two of them, forcing them to separate. They were still snarling at each other when she returned to their level.

_Stop it, both of you. All quarrels can keep till the end of the class, and class isn't over until all of you get the target at least once. And no fire is allowed. Am I clear?_

_. . ._

_Am I _clear?

_Yes, Mánya,_ they grumbled.

Pale hovered beside Mánya. _Is it really necessary to dive from so high up, Mánya? My wings are going to be so sore tomorrow . . ._

_Yes, it is._

He growled in complaint.

_I don't see Lifaen grumbling._

They both watched as the green dragon dived eagerly, Jethran alongside him. Palé snorted. _The enthusiasm that boy has for everything is sickening._

_You're just sore because he's better at getting the target than you are._

_He is not!_

_Really? Then why don't you try for _that _one? _She indicated a big log bobbing on the waves about half a league away.

He gave her a look. _Fine._ He then flapped hard, gaining about a league before he paused and measured the distance. This was going to be a hard one . . .

He angled himself, paused for a second to check on the direction of the wind, then tucked in his wings and gently tipped forward. He closed his second eyelids to stop his eyes from watering as the wind began to scream past him and squinted.

He'd have to curve quite a bit for this one, not like the others. So . . . not yet . . . not yet . . .

His flight muscles were aching from his previous dives. He growled between his teeth and clenched them tighter. Another fifty feet . . .

And . . . now! He snapped his wings open, snarling as the wind yanked at them, and held them perpendicular to the direction of his dive.

_All right. Now, slowly . . ._

He tilted his wings upwards by a fraction of a degree. And another. And another . . .

Ever so carefully, he began to curve. It wasn't enough, though; his dive was still too steep. Tense, he increased the angle of his wings by a far larger degree than he had before, and the wind almost ripped his wings from their sockets.

_Careful . . . _Kitai whispered anxiously from the back of his mind. He was vaguely aware that Kitai was sitting stock still, quill poised in the air above a roll of parchment.

Another growl escaped him as he continued to increase the angle of his wings.

They were almost parallel to the ocean now. Good. He just had to hold steady for another twenty seconds.

He extended his claws, ready to snatch up the target. Almost . . . and . . .

_Now!_ His claws closed around it and he used his momentum to swoop upwards with a short roar of triumph.

_Yes!_

_Well done!_ Kitai's pride in him added to the warm glow in his belly.

_Excellent, __Palé__. You can rest now, _Mánya said.

Tired, he hovered for a second, watching Lifaen, Corinne, Jethran and Celeste practise on the larger targets. Ikraan tried for the same type of target as he had, and succeeded. He rose to his level, panting.

_Done?_

_Yes._

_Let's go, then._

_In a minute. I want to see who gets their target first._

Ikraan snorted. The plume of smoke from his nostrils floated up like a miniature thundercloud.

_Cori already got her target. She's just showing off. You can stare at her some other time, I'm exhausted._

Palé struggled to keep his snarl contained while Kitai laughed in his head. _He's got you, _Palé_!_

_Oh, I'm not waiting for Cori, _Palé sniped._ I thought you wanted to watch Celeste. But of course, she prefers Lifaen-_

He ducked as Ikraan snapped at his head. _Shut up._

_Make me!_

Ikraan began to chase him back to the Hall. Palé shouted, _Mánya, we're leaving!_

She acknowledged him with a brief flicker of thought. Grinning, he sped to the Hall with his brother hot on his heels.

_I don't know why you don't prefer Rose, _he yelled. _She's much more beautiful-_

_She is _not!

Palé landed in the middle of the Gardens, where the marble paths met and formed a courtyard, and turned to face Ikraan. Osra was nearby, on garden duty. She gave them an amused look. "Stop it, you two. If you keep shouting like this, both Corinne and Celeste will hear you."

That sobered them up. Ikraan snorted and padded off to find Senshi while Palé flopped to the ground, panting, and allowed the sun to warm his bones.

_Peace at last . . ._

He sighed in a great rush of hot air that nearly scorched the flowers Osra was attending to. She gave him an exasperated glance, which he ignored. He could finally get some sleep . . .

Corinne landed next to him with a ground-shaking thud. She was followed in quick succession by Celeste, Lifaen, and Jethran. He snorted in annoyance as the sound of their panting crashed on his eardrums.

Corinne nudged at his neck. _Gone to sleep already?_

_Yes, _he mumbled without opening his eyes.

She chuckled deep in her throat and lay down next to him. _I suppose I'll join you, then._

Trying to ignore the warm glow that had just ignited in his stomach, and trying to ignore her warm breath on his scales, he heard Jethran and Lifaen snort with amusement and felt Celeste's embarrassment. Before he could react, though, he heard talons clicking on the stone floor, and opened his eyes to see Drëya standing in front of them.

_Younglings, come. Your next lesson is on extending your flame._

The four youngest dragons groaned collectively.

Celeste pleaded, _Drëya, give us a few minutes. We're all exhausted._

Drëya gave her a measured look. _Saphira-ebrithil is waiting for you._

They all rose to their feet at once. No one wanted to keep Saphira waiting.

Palé hummed to himself, still sprawled on the ground. _Doesn't he have to come?_ Corinne asked.

Drëya fixed her with a faintly amused glance. _He and Ikraan already have exceptional control over their fire - as Ikraan demonstrated today._

Palé hummed louder as Corinne dropped her head, embarrassed. He gave her a lazy wink, and she snorted, turning away from him.

_Come! I will be assisting Saphira-ebrithil today. We want to be finished before our Riders break for lunch._

She opened her black wings and was in the air in an instant. Palé felt a twinge of envy. He still couldn't take flight so effortlessly.

The other four followed, flapping their tired wings laboriously. Palé touched Celeste's mind privately.

_Cellie, if you see Ikraan, make sure to say hello. The poor thing thinks you've been avoiding him lately._

He'd hoped to fluster her, but she just replied with some amusement, _Sure, __Palé__. _

Hmm. How disappointing.

_Don't tease her, _Kitai chided him.

_She doesn't mind. _Palé closed his eyes again. _Cellie is a good sport . . . If you're done, could you come here? My scales are itching._

A gentle wave of affection from Kitai augmented the warm glow in his belly. _Sure. I'm almost there._

_Good . . ._

He heard his footsteps about ten minutes later. Kitai leaned his forehead against his scaly cheek and scratched the scales under his jaw. Palé groaned softly with pleasure.

_That was an excellent dive,_ Kitai murmured.

Palé preened himself. _Wasn't it?_

Kitai smiled._ Corinne was watching. I saw her._

Palé shuffled his wings and avoided his Rider's teasing gaze.

Kitai laughed and hugged him tight around the neck. _Don't worry. She likes you too._

Palé looked around in spite of himself. _How do you know?_

_Oh, I can tell. Besides, Ikraan told Senshi he thinks so too. And Celeste told Dara the same thing._

Pale's heart swelled. Celeste was Corinne's best friend. If she thought so, then . . .

Kitai leaned against Palé contentedly as he hummed.

_Does Jethran like anyone, by the way?_

Palé grinned to himself. _Oh, yes. Guess who it is._

_Rosalie?_

_No, that's Lifaen. I think that's why his Rider was also interested in Zelíe._

_If that was true, then I should be interested in Sorya because of your feelings for her dragon._

_Well, you do like her a lot, don't you?_

_Well . . ._

_And Senshi likes Dara. Riders and dragons influence each other to quite an extent, unconsciously._

_But Caspian got over Zelíe long ago. We're good friends now._

_Yes, but that doesn't mean he stopped loving her. Maybe he now thinks of her as a cousin or a sister or something. Besides, Lifaen just admires Rosalie. A lot, admittedly, but it's still only admiration._

_All right, all right, putting all that aside . . . Is it Layla? For Jethran?_

_Ha. No. You know all of us think of her as our elder sister._

_So then either Mánya or Drëya-_

_. . . Not Mánya._

_Drëya? Are you serious? He's about twice her size!_

Palé paused and fixed Kitai with a quizzical gaze. _And I'm about thrice Corinne's size. What is your point?_

_But. . . he's always so energetic and fun-loving, while Drëya is irritable and . . ._

_Drëya's actually good fun once you get to know her. Besides, I think Jethran is attracted to his opposite._

_. . ._

Palé nudged Kitai's arm. _I'm joking, I'm joking! As far as I know, Jethran doesn't particularly like any of the girls in that way_.

_Idiot. You startled me!_

_I never said Drëya doesn't like him, though . . ._

_Oh, stop. I'm not going to believe you._

Palé snorted with amusement, then yawned and settled his head on his front paws. Kitai would find out on his own soon enough.

_I'm going to sleep, all right?_

_You lazy thing, _Kitai murmured as he patted him gently, but Palé was already asleep.

Celesté flopped to the ground.

_Argh. I hate breathing fire._

Lifaen was seated beside her, panting.

_I still don't know how Saphira-ebrithil manages to keep at it for half an hour, _he said._ I can't even maintain my flame for ten minutes!_

_Are you going back to the Hall now?_

_No, I'm want to catch my breath for a minute . . . what about you?_

_The same. We'll catch up with everyone else later . . ._

_This training is a lot harder than I expected._

Celesté snorted weakly. _You're improving the fastest out of all of us, though._

Lifaen thumped his tail once. _Thank you!_

Celesté snorted again.

They sat quietly for some time, getting their breath back. It was almost noon, but they were shaded by the many trees about them. They were on the very edge of the forests. A myriad small melted boulders all around bore evidence of the dragons' training.

_What's Caspian up to? _Celesté asked lazily.

Lifaen snorted. _He's trying to melt sand._

_Melt sand?_

_Senshi showed him some cups made of a china-like material and told him it was made by melting sand. He's trying to make the same material._

_. . . sounds like she was playing a trick on him to me._

Lifaen blinked. _No, he . . . he's done it!_ He hummed gently as Caspian's euphoria infected him. _He loves this kind of stuff. Yesterday he combined charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter. Nearly blew his head off. Idiot._

_Mmm. He'd get along with Orrin._

_Yes, he would . . . What's Dara doing?_

_Dara's heading to kitchen to cook. It's her turn today-_

She froze.

_Cell? What's wrong? _Lifaen asked curiously. She didn't pay any attention to him. All her attention was concentrated on the elf her Rider had just met.

She could feel tension holding Dara's body taut, running through her mind like a wire, and she could see the coldness on the face of the light-haired-angry-ancestor of Dara's.

The elf spoke formally, in the ancient language.

"_Child. I would speak with you."_

Dara said nothing.

"_I have not dealt with you differently because you are of my blood, excepting the day you first came here. It seemed to me that that was what we both preferred. In fact, I have taken pains not to associate overmuch with you, seeing as you hate me."_

"_I hate you?" _Dara said quietly. "_Yes. Can you say you gave me no reason? And can you say you did not feel the same?" _She bit her lip. She hadn't meant to say so much.

_Calm down,_ Celesté whispered to her.

Yaela's eyes narrowed. "_That is not the purpose of this discussion."_

Dara tried to relax a little. _"Pray tell, what is?"_

"_What exists between you and Këyal?"_

Celesté separated her consciousness from Lifaen's completely as Dara went rigid with shock and anger. _Don't give anything away, _Celesté urged. _It's not her business._

_You think?!_

"_What is that to you_?" Dara snapped. Celesté sighed to herself.

"_It is plain that something exists between you two, and-"_

"_What is it to you, Yaela? You have renounced any and all connections between us. By what right now do you presume to pry into my affairs?"_

Yaela's face tightened_. "Child, I have lived for four centuries. Do not speak to me so. I may have renounced the claims between us, but I owe it to my daughter to speak to you on this matter. Do not imagine I am doing so readily."_

"_Speak, then,"_ Dara snapped, tense with anger and anxiety.

Yaela's brows drew together in a deep frown, and she gave Dara most dangerous look Celeste had ever seen._ "Do not test me," _she said softly. "_I warn you, hold your tongue, or you will regret it."_

Dara longed to retort, but something in Yaela's eyes held her silent. The elf watched her for a moment more before continuing,_ " I wish to tell you that whatever you feel for Këyal. . . whatever you hope for . . . it will not work. It is not right. It is bound to end in sorrow. Elves and humans are worlds apart."_

Celeste felt a renewed bolt of fury shoot through Dara at Yaela's pompous self-assurance. _How does she dare patronize me as though I were an idiot child?!_

_Don't antagonize her! _Celesté exclaimed, but she was ignored.  
_  
"Oh, yes? How do you know?" _Dara hissed.

_"What?"_

"_How are you so certain? You speak as one who has personal experience. Besides, what of Queen Arya and Master? Are they not a living contradiction of what you allege?"_

Yaela raised an eyebrow._ "Do you honestly think they will last for very long? But never mind that, it is besides the point. Arya is my queen. Eragon is a Shadeslayer and the greatest hero of the age. Their actions are not for me to judge. You, however, are my kin. I could not live with myself if I saw you heading for such sorrow and did nothing to prevent it."_

"_You did not answer my question. What makes you so certain?"_

"_That is not your concern."_

"_You must have loved a human once."_

"_Do not dare to question me!" _Yaela's eyes flashed. Celesté could feel the fear within Dara, but her Rider stood her ground.

"_Did you not? Can you deny it?" _Dara tilted her head to the side and managed to summon a smirk. Celesté could almost admire her childish defiance.

Yaela seemed almost to snarl. "_Just like your mother. Insolent to the end, when all I am doing is attempting to protect you!"_

"_Protect me from what?" _Dara shouted. "_I do not even-" _She choked on the words.

Yaela's entire stance changed. Where before she had looked as a panther about to pounce, now she as a cat who had gotten at the cream. She smirked even as Dara had smirked a moment ago.

"_You cannot deny it in this language, can you?"_

Dara clenched her fists, feeling as though she might scream.

Yaela's smile faded a little as she scrutinized her closely. "_I see. It is that you do not know your own mind . . . In that case, it will be better for him and for you if you decide to keep away from him. Trust me, child. The sorrow that invariably follows such a relationship would be akin to losing your dragon."_

"_You do not know what it is like to lose a dragon."_

"_Yes, I do."_

"_You were never a Rider."_

"_That does not mean I do not know."_

Dara glared at her.

Yaela suddenly looked weary. _"I have done my duty. If you decide not to listen, child, you will have no one to blame but yourself."_

Celesté felt Dara's roiling emotions calm and settle somewhat. _"As always. My choices are my own, and the sorrow or joy they bring are my responsibility. I . . . appreciate your warning. But there is nothing between myself and Keyal, and I do not plan for anything to exist either."_

Yaela inclined her head condescendingly. Dara gave her an irritated glance in return before heading to the kitchens.

_Celesté__?_

_Yes?_

_Oh. Nothing. You were being awfully quiet._

_I didn't want to distract you._ Celesté decided that it was not the time to berate Dara on her lack of composure and instead sent her a surge of gentle reassurance.

She was answered with a wave of gratitude. Dara then withdrew a little, worried.

_Do you think . . . do you think they all think the same as her? All the elves, and Master?_

_Let them think what they want. You know your own heart. They can make any assumptions they care to._

_But . . . I _don't _know my own heart. That's the problem here, isn't it?_

Celesté didn't have an answer for that.

Her partner laughed softly. _Never mind. It's not important right now, anyway._

There was a pause. She waited, feeling a thought form in Dara's mind.

_I wish Caspian was working in the kitchen with me, _she thought slowly._ I'd like to talk to him about this._

_Talk to him afterwards._

_Wait. . . is that Lifaen next to you? Show him what just happened, would you, and ask him to tell Caspian._

_All right. Who _is _working with you in the kitchens today? _

_Nina-elda, Aki and Zelíe._

_Mmm. Your face is still red._

_I know, I know . . . I hate being this pale. _Dara fanned her face. Celeste hummed deep in her throat, amused.

The tall doors of the kitchen came into Dara's sight, and so Celeste withdrew from Dara a little. She blinked as Lifaen swam back into focus. The green dragon nudged her flank. _What was that all about?_

She sighed to herself - two-legs, even her own Rider, seemed to have far too much drama in their lives - and began to tell him.

_He'd never get people to accept it, _Jethran said firmly.

_Why not? I think humans would be most interested to learn-_

_That's _if _they have they leisure to learn. If a majority of the people grow up on isolated farms like Eragon, and the rest are power-hungry, rich leeches, who does he think will be interested?_

_You are making an assumption. People are like that because they don't even know how much is out there to learn, about the world and themselves, _Lifaen said.

_When a farmer is struggling to survive and depends on his children to help him earn a livelihood, do you think he will send them away for an education that, to him, is of no practical use?_

_We'll never know unless we try, will we? Besides, isn't it an ideal solution for the problem of magic-users?_

Corinne broke in impatiently. _Will you two stop arguing? Are you going to fight me or not?_

Jethran gave her a sidelong glance. _What's gotten into you today? It's like you've got ants underneath your scales. Usually you're so levelheaded._

Corinne growled at him. _I'm too levelheaded! I'm in an energetic mood today. Don't spoil it for me._

_You're in an irritable mood today, _Lifaen corrected.

_Oh, so _you _want to fight. Very well. _Corinne tensed, about to pounce.

_Oh, will you stop? _Jethran exclaimed, exasperated. He whipped around and lunged at her, knocking her on her side and pinning her to the ground in a matter of seconds.

_That wasn't fair! _A spurt of blinding white fire escaped her teeth.

_A fight is never fair, _Jethran snapped.

A streak of shimmering gold slammed into Jethran and knocked him off of Corinne into the ground. He was up in an instant, facing his attacker.

_Sorry, Jethran, but Corinne promised me this fight, _Palé said pleasantly. _Even if -_he swung his head around to look at her- _she seems to have forgotten._

For an instant, Jethran wanted to leap at Palé, but then his natural good humor asserted itself. He hummed with amusement, giving Palé a quizzical glance as he walked back over to Lifaen. _Mmm, you two would be better off without us, anyway. Let's go, Lifaen. We wouldn't want to intrude._

The bigger dragon gave him a look that should have skewered him where he stood. Jethran gave him a lazy wink. _Don't keep her up too late, __Palé__._

Corinne snorted with disgust. _Ignore him, __Palé__. Don't worry, I certainly did not forget you'd promised me a fight. Come!_

She pounced with alacrity, and Palé responded in kind as Lifaen and Jethran padded up the beach.

_How about that spot by the rocks, just here? No one is likely to be there at this time._

_I wish you were right, but I doubt it . . ._

Jethran looked at him inquiringly.

_Celesté, _Lifaen said simply.

Just then, they rounded a bend and saw Celesté's silver, sinuous form stretched out on the sand, and Ikraan's powerful, purple frame next to her. Even as he watched, startled, Ikraan lifted his head and gently nuzzled the side of her neck. Celesté shuffled her wings, seeming to shiver for an instant. Jethran was glad he didn't know what she was thinking.

He turned around instantly. Lifaen followed, sighing. _So that's been settled, then._

Jethran's snout wrinkled. _Urgh. I could almost feel the bashfulness emanating from Cellie._

Lifaen snorted with laughter.

_Shall we fly, then? The beach is apparently infested with love-sick dragons._

Lifaen made an amused sound. _I never thought I'd hear you call any dragon love-sick._

_Well, they all are . . ._

_Drëya too, hmm?_

Jethran dropped his gaze. _Oh, be quiet._

Akhtar laughed in his head even as he swung his axe at the nimble-stern-quiet-elf-Keyal. _You've got to be the most bashful dragon in history, tsurgazh._

Jethran did not reply, but rather allowed his amusement to reach Akhtar as the elf dodged the mace and quickly struck him so hard in the stomach that he bent over double, gasping. _Serves you right for being distracted._

_Shut up._

Laughing to himself, Jethran turned his attention back to what Lifaen was saying.

_I'd rather not fly. My wings are aching terribly._

Truth be told, Jethran's wings were aching rather badly as well. So he acquiesced, and they began to wrestle, pouncing and biting at each other playfully, spraying sand in every which direction and snorting whenever one of them sneezed or slipped. They were too tired to go back to the Hall when they finished, so they fell asleep right there, on the beach.

When Jethran woke the next morning as the bright-dazzling rays of the morning sun spread across the sky, turning the ocean to liquid gold and shimmering silver, Akhtar was curled against his side, snoring loudly, his long queue encrusted with sand. He hummed deep and low in his throat with surprise and pleasure, and laid his wing over him. When he looked across at Lifaen, who had yet to awake, he saw Caspian sitting there quietly. The slim-laughing-intelligent two-legs gave him a small smile and a nod. Jethran inclined his head in return before curling his body around his Rider, inexpressibly grateful for his presence, and falling back asleep.

_Tsurgazh – the Urgal equivalent of the dwarven 'delva'. It can mean 'good friend', 'partner', or 'loved one'._


End file.
